


Almost, Always, All Yours

by PiOneOneZero



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A Probably Vain Attempt to Explain WTF Jaime!?, Angst, But It’s Temporary!!, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Cersei Does Not Come Off Well..., Character Death Fix, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fix-It, Flashbacks, Jaime Lannister Lives, Jaime has a slight dying incident, Lannister Twins Showdown, More angst, Navel-Gazing, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, That Seems Endless But I Will Get There Honest!, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2020-06-02 08:58:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 73,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19438174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PiOneOneZero/pseuds/PiOneOneZero
Summary: Trapped and dying in the ruins of the Red Keep, Jaime can do nothing but ponder his failures. Meanwhile, fifteen hundred miles away in Winterfell, Brienne does some reminiscing of her own. Is this the end for them, or has fate had other plans for the Kingslayer and the former Maid of Tarth all along?





	1. Praying

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first GoT fic, hope you enjoy! I've just finished a full rewatch since the end of the show aired and this has been gradually forming in my head as I've gone along, so I'm excited to start writing. I'm not sure how long it's going to be yet but there will be a fair few chapters and my plan is to try and post every couple of weeks. It will likely be some time before they are reunited, but there will be plenty of flashback action in the meanwhile. I'll be doing the best I can to make this canon compliant, so nothing will change from what we saw on the show, there will just be extra scenes in between and afterwards.
> 
> My stories always have a soundtrack, most of the titles are from songs and this is no exception. I will also be using a song for each chapter title and will share those as I go along. For now, the overall title of this story is inspired by 'Almost, Always, All Yours' by Widower.
> 
> I am now adding each song to a playlist as I publish the chapters, you can find it here https://open.spotify.com/user/choccoweeble/playlist/10zErXVVCAHgVoJRowpxre?si=Q0oCjPdPR6G2sqkJwkUQqQ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song for this Chapter is "Praying" by Kesha
> 
> "You brought the flames and you put me through hell  
> I had to learn how to fight for myself  
> And we both know all the truths I could tell  
> I'll just say this is "I wish you farewell""

_Tywin walked interminably slowly down the room, silver cane dragging over the surface of the table as he did so. Jaime’s already stuttering words stalled all the more as he looked up into his father’s stony eyes._

_“Again”. The single word Tywin spoke travelled down Jaime’s spine to his stomach and squeezed, the end of the cane tapping down in a dull thud against the page before him._

_“A...A..eeee...gon T...tar...g...” The sharp swish cut him off a split second before pain exploded across his knuckles. He bit down on his lower lip as tears welled in his eyes, clouding his vision – the words swimming on the page even more than they already had been._

_He’d learnt by bitter experience that making any sound or allowing himself to cry would only worsen his situation. “This is unacceptable”, Tywin said flatly, “you’ve had this book for a week and you’re still failing on the most basic words. You should know this. What do you have to say for yourself?”_

_“I’m sorry father”. Jaime kept his head bowed, gaze focussed on the pattern of wood grain in the tabletop so he didn’t look to the line of red welts rising once again across his knuckles. Somehow seeing the damage made the pain worse._

_“And what am I to do with sorry? Sorry doesn’t fix your attitude. Sorry isn’t applying yourself more. You embarrass me boy. ‘Tywin Lannister’s son can’t read at the age of twelve,’ they’ll say and they’ll laugh at us. I won’t have it”._

_“Yes father. I’ll try harder father”._

_“I should hope so. I’d prefer not to have to remind you again, but if you leave me no choice...” He flexed the cane in his hands just above the tabletop where he knew Jaime would be able to see it in spite of his bowed head._

_“Of course father. I don’t need a reminder, I promise”. The fire came again across his hands informing him of his misstep._

_“I will be the judge of that you insolent little shit. Now get out of my sight before I have to remind you again how much of a fucking disappointment you are.”_

_Jaime pushed the chair back from the table slowly, suspecting a trap. When nothing happened, he slid his feet to the floor and took a couple of tentative steps away._

_“Hurry up – before I change my mind”. Jaime turned and bolted for the door – no thought of the future consequences of this action, only needing to be as far as possible away from his father in that moment, Tywin’s sneering laugh echoing in his ears._

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

It is said that in the moment before death your life flashes before your eyes, but that’s not quite what happened for Jaime Lannister. Lying in the pitch darkness, pain wracking every part of his body and his throat filled with dust, that flash was more a long, slow, agonising procession of painful memories, regrets and ‘what ifs’ as he felt his tenuous grip on consciousness slipping away. 

Crushed against his left hip, Cersei’s body lay as unmoving as the stones that entombed them. He’d managed to locate her arm in the rubble, finding comfort in wrapping his fingers around it for a time, but as the painful minutes ticked on her skin grew cold and he drew his hand away. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity cared to listen that it had been quick for her, and that she wasn’t being forced to endure the same ordeal. 

Trying to relax in the hope he would fall asleep and find an end to the pain, but finding it difficult given the weight pressing down on his chest, his mind once more slipped away into the past. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

_Slamming the solid oak door and shooting the bolt, Jaime turned his back and slowly allowed himself to sink down to the floor. Crouched, heart hammering in his chest, he finally permitted the tears to fall. Wrapping his arms over his knees and burying his face into them, he cried until his shirt sleeves were damp and his head began to ache._

_Avoiding the mirror as he rose - he had no desire to see what a state he looked - he walked over to the bed and fell back on it to stare at the ceiling. In spite of the hours he had put into studying the book he had failed yet again. Why did he find this so hard?_

_The doorknob rattled, and the sound was followed by a quiet knock when the door failed to open. Jaime lifted his head slightly to stare in that direction but didn't make a sound or rise from the bed._

_The quiet knock came again._

_"Jaime... Jaime are you in there? It's me." Cersei’s voice was quite soft, and he was torn between wanting to let her in and wanting to be left alone. Solitude won out._

_"Go away," he shouted back._

_The doorknob rattled again, more rigorously, followed by two firm thuds that were clearly Cersei trying to force her way through. Then her voice came again,_

_“Jaime Lannister, open this door right now or I’ll never speak to you again!"_

_Jaime wasn't sure if that would prove to be entirely true, but he knew his twin well enough to know that she would probably shun him for quite some time - and threaten worse - if he failed to comply. Her willpower had always been stronger than his._

_He moved to the door and slid the bolt, making the concession of turning his back on Cersei as she entered the room._

_Closing the door firmly behind her, she grabbed his shoulder roughly and spun him back around, taking in his face, which must be a blotchy red mess by the look she gave him._

_"Darling what happened?” Her anger quickly turned to concern as she embraced him - he allowed his head to fall onto her shoulder and the tears came again. All he managed to stammer out between his sobs was,_

_"F... f- father... he... I couldn't." He held his wounded hands up where she could see them. She sighed and drew back._

_"He gave you another reading test, didn't he?" Jaime simply nodded in response._

_“You know it’s quite simple Jaime, if you don't want him to punish you, you need to work harder." She frowned at him as she spoke._

_"Cersei I have tried, don't you think I want him to stop? I just can't do it"._

_"Of course you can do it, everyone can read, even Tyrion can manage a few words and he's barely more than a baby,” she scoffed._

_"I can't," he insisted, "whenever I look at the book I just can't seem to be able to see the words properly. It’s like the letters move around on the page. I don't know why"._

_"Try opening your eyes and not daydreaming about knights and tourneys," she laughed, "if you can't figure out a few names and dates when they're right there in front of you, you really are the stupidest Lannister". She turned away to the window shaking her head, and looked down over the woods beyond the castle wall._

_Jaime took the opportunity whilst her back was turned to dry his eyes on his sleeve and tried to stop sniffing._

_After a few quiet moments, Cersei turned back to him and, resting her hands on his upper arms said in a nicer tone,_

_"Now are you going to get cleaned up for dinner or am I leaving you here to sulk and be hungry?"_

_After a few deep breaths to compose himself, Jamie replied,_

_"I’ll get ready for dinner." Cersei smiled, a real smile, for the first time since she’d entered the room._

_"There's a good boy," she said as she leant in towards him and planted a firm kiss on his lips, hand brushing over his hair, "don't let father see he's won – and… learn your lesson?"._

_She turned then and left the room; Jaime raised a hand to his lips, tracing over where hers had touched them as he longingly watched her go._


	2. Talk About Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is Talk About Love by Boyzone.
> 
> "Yeah, it's been a hell of a night  
> Both of us too scared to face it  
> We've been taking the time  
> Both of us don't wanna waste it
> 
> Nobody said, it would be easy  
> And no promises, but if you need me  
> Just stay for the night  
> We could be lonely, together for the night  
> Let's talk about love"

Brienne returned to her room after her early morning sparring session with Podrick. She rubbed each calf as she removed her greaves, wincing at her aching back when she straightened up. She couldn't work out if she was stiffer than usual this morning or whether he'd given her a harder work out - either way he certainly seemed to be improving.

She caught herself smiling slightly – the pride she felt in her protégé finally distracting her enough from her melancholy. She mused that this could well be the first time she’d smiled since Jaime had departed nearly two weeks ago… and her thoughts had turned back to him again. She was still trying to come to terms with all that had happened between them since his highly unexpected but welcome arrival in Winterfell. 

Part of her was determined not to allow her feelings for a man define her - indeed her entire life to this point had been built on her ability to take care of herself - but that wasn't the part of her that was desperately heartbroken.

Their liaison had become the worst kept secret in the castle, with everyone seemingly aware but too polite to openly admit their knowledge of it. They had been less proficient at hiding it however, once he had left in the night after the best part of a month sleeping in her bed rather than his own.

Sansa had been quite forthright in her anger, feeling he had both deceived her in his intentions and besmirched her honour, but Brienne had - in spite of her hurt feelings - insisted he had promised her nothing and she had shared his bed willingly without demanding such. Even after he’d abandoned her she still found herself determined to defend him - she understood what motivated his actions even if she disagreed wholeheartedly with his reasoning. 

In truth she had just been happy that her long held attraction to him had been reciprocated and assumed anything more formal would be addressed in time. Time that it turned out they would not have. But, she did not regret a moment of their time together in spite of her broken heart and the gnawing fear for his safety – the only thing she did regret was her inability to save him from himself.

Removing the last of her armour, she sank into the tub that had been drawn for her - it had taken a few days for the maidservants to cotton on to the fact that she liked to bathe immediately after her sparring session. Whilst he had been with her Jaime had taken great delight in preparing her morning bath, a pleasure she had been both bemused and entertained by. It was the little things she missed, as well as the big ones.

Closing her eyes as she relaxed into the water, she took a moment to feel that pain of missing him rise in her stomach - before she forced her mind onto reliving memories of the treasured time they’d shared.

^^^^^^^

_"I’ve never slept with a knight before." Jaime's eyes searched hers, burning with that vulnerability he so often masked, and it induced her to reciprocate,_

_"I’ve never slept with anyone before," she finally confessed - she knew he and half the castle already knew this but speaking it aloud made her feel powerful. Taking ownership of her virginity for the first time in front of the man who she was about to lose it to made her feel in control, despite the fear that vibrated in her gut at the prospect._

_Typically, he broke the tension with humour,_

_"Then you have to drink - those are the rules." His attempt to distract her from her nerves had the desired effect – her mind flipped back into verbal sparring mode._

_"I told you..." His kiss cut her off in mid-sentence, and all thought of anything but the feel and taste of him in her mouth was chased away._

_She'd imagined this moment so many times in so many different scenarios, but the reality of it surprised her. There was a greater urgency and passion in his kiss than she had expected - one that she found herself returning._

_The heat of his mouth was delicious despite the strong flavour of wine, and as his tongue danced against hers a fire spread down her spine. Her blood roared in her ears and she felt a little light headed, having to resist the urge to laugh at the sheer delight of the moment._

_He drew her in, pressing his body flush against hers, her naked breasts meeting his chest. He moaned softly into her mouth, the sound eliciting a twinge between her legs that made her gasp._

_He drew away a little, breaking the kiss but keeping them pressed together, taking in her face. She was aware of her breathing coming fast and shallow, heart beating rapidly._

_Suddenly realising she must look like a startled rabbit, she smiled and he returned the expression, his face lighting up as he did. For the first time she felt like she was seeing Jaime Lannister truly without his barriers, and it thrilled her._

_She reinitiated the kiss, controlling the pace this time as she slowly explored has mouth with her tongue and he allowed her the time she needed._

_His golden hand was firm and cold against her back, a contrast to the damp heat of his skin on her chest - she wanted to tell him it was okay to remove it, that he didn't need to hide anything from her, but the thought was lost when he moved his left hand around to cup her breast._

_He caressed it gently at first, gauging her reaction, but more firmly when she threaded her hands around the back of his head and deepened the kiss._

_A sharp flick of his thumb over her nipple sent more sparks tumbling southwards and she groaned in response, certain the noise was not an attractive one. He seemed to disagree, however, as he walked her swiftly backwards to the edge of the bed and pushed her down onto it._

_His weight on top of her felt good - really good, and he returned his attention to her breasts, rolling one nipple between his finger and thumb and bending his head to the other, drawing it into his mouth and sucking gently._

_Involuntarily she arched her hips off the bed, meeting against a hardness that brought back the nerves to her stomach sharply. He hissed at the contact and thrust against her thigh once before holding himself there and breathing deeply for a few moments. Then he spoke,_

_"You have no idea what you do to me"._

_Brienne was almost startled by the effect she appeared to be having on him - she couldn't find a way to respond so she merely raised a hand to his face, stroking down his cheek in a way she hoped he would find affectionate._

_She was greeted with a look she had never before received from any man - a look that conveyed pure desire, and it ignited a fire in her that she didn't know she possessed. Pulling Jaime closer against her once more she brought his mouth to hers – kissing him eagerly as she explored the firm muscles of his back._

_He ran his hands down her sides, one warm and the other cold and she arched into him once more, this time the pool of molten metal between her legs finding his unyielding length through the layers of cloth._

_Their moans came together then, louder and less controlled. She was caught up between the waves of pleasure - unfamiliar but very welcome, and the growing sense of disbelief that Jaime Lannister, of all men, could desire her._

_She had long resigned herself to pining over him from afar, grateful for the connection they had forged but convinced that to him it was no more than mutual respect and a common outlook. And now here he was in her bed. She found herself wondering how long he had returned the attraction she had harboured for him for many years._

_She was dragged back to the present by his hands brushing over her hips - his golden hand caught in her trouser pocket and he swore, pulling away from her as he tried to free it with his good hand._

_She grasped his wrist with one hand to still him, lifting his chin to meet her eyes again with the other._

_"You don't have to keep it on - let me". Gently, she undid the fastenings and removed it, setting it aside on the table that was just within reach. She raised his right arm to her lips and tenderly kissed his stump. He shuddered slightly at the contact._

_"Does it not… disgust you?" he asked, jaw clenched. She sighed and ran her thumb over the top of it again,_

_"Not in the slightest - in fact I find it one of the most attractive things about you." He laughed slightly - trying and almost succeeding in hiding his surprise. Then he followed up with the predictable joke,_

_"Is that because it means you'll always be able to best me with a sword?"_

_She made a mental note to confront him later about his determination to deflect difficult topics with humour, but now was not the time. Right now he needed her compassion,_

_"No, it's because you lost your hand protecting me - and it's a constant reminder of the man you really are, no matter how much you try to deny it." He looked down for a few seconds before meeting her eyes again,_

_"It's all you", he responded, "you make me better than I ever thought I could be…" He paused, dropping his hand to the fastenings on her breeches, fumbling for a few seconds before freeing them. She helped him pull them away and discard them to the floor._

_She felt his eyes on her, resisting the urge to cover herself as he took her in. He continued,_

_"…And it's high time I thanked you properly". Then his hand was between her legs, stroking gently through the dampness there, probing at her entrance._

_She threw her head back, sighing at pleasure she hadn’t imagined she could experience - then his thumb circled against her and she cried out at the intensity - he stopped instantly,_

_"Too much?" he asked, searching her face. She shook her head, taking a few moments to gather her response,_

_"Just... go slow". He chuckled deep in his throat, a sound that aroused her almost as much as his touch, and he continued, drawing lazy patterns against the sensitive nub she hadn't known she possessed._

_She rolled back and forth on the bed all thought of nerves and modesty forgotten, as he leaned on his right arm beside her, trailing kisses on her neck as his hand worked its magic._

_The pleasure built in intensity, her cries with it, and as he continued his strokes, gradually picking up the pace he slid first one finger, then two inside her - matching the rhythm he set with his thumb._

_She hissed slightly but he continued, and she began to move with him. Just as she couldn't imagine climbing any higher she came apart, shuddering against him uncontrollably with a guttural cry, as white heat seared her vision._

_He drew her against him, bringing his lips back to hers and kissing her gently as her breathing and racing heart slowed. The back of his fingers caressed softly over her hair and down her face as he met her eyes once more. He spoke, softer even then he had all evening,_

_"Are you sure you want this?" He pressed himself hard against her as he said it, making his meaning clear._

_Still flushed from her release, she sank into the pools of his blue-green eyes as she replied,_

_"More than anything". She demonstrated her certainty by turning her attention to the lacing on his breeches. To say she was unafraid would be a lie, but she was so ready to be one with this beautiful man that the fear no longer mattered._

_She worked the fastenings for a few seconds before freeing them and helping him pull his breeches down. His rigid cock stood proud, purple and demanding - and she felt herself staring._

_He allowed her a moment - she could feel his eyes on her, revelling in her gaze. Then he gently took her hand and guided it onto his length. She stroked up and down his shaft a few times - he threw his head back and bit on his lower lip, breathing shallow._

_He stopped her after a few moments, face flushed and panting - a new sheen breaking out on his skin,_

_"As lovely as that is, I’ll have to stop you otherwise this is going to be over rather faster than would be ideal.” She barely registered him sliding himself over her again she was so lost in the thought that she could have such power over him, to make him almost lose control._

_His delicious weight on her snapped her back to reality once more - gasping at the feel of his cock pressing against her centre._

_He stroked her face again, raising a questioning eyebrow for her to confirm her consent. She simply nodded, and he slid himself slowly into her. The feeling of impossible fullness was not without pain, but as he started up a gentle rhythm the sting eased, and she found herself meeting against his thrusts almost instinctively._

_His face fascinated her, eyes closed, mouth slightly open and wholly unguarded, he was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen._

_His thrusts soon became more erratic, and his moans wilder, before he spilled into her with a cry and collapsed forward onto her chest, breathing ragged._

_She stroked his hair as he came down, his expression now peaceful, more so even than when she had seen him asleep._

_He rolled off her and sought her kiss - now lazier and unhurried. He laced his fingers in hers and broke away, raising her hand for a kiss._

_Words didn't seem to be necessary - they had said everything they needed to say with their bodies. Jaime met her gaze one last time before snuggling his head against her chest and throwing his arm over her. She pulled the furs up to cover them and wrapped her arms around him protectively before closing her eyes._


	3. Love the Way You Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is Love The Way You Lie (Part II) by Rhianna
> 
> "Just gonna stand there and watch me burn  
> But that's all right because I like the way it hurts  
> Just gonna stand there and hear me cry  
> But that's all right because I love the way you lie"

Jaime's right arm had fallen asleep. He'd tried a few times to reposition himself to ease the pressure, but he hadn't succeeded. 

It felt strange - taking him years back to when he'd first lost his hand. He'd felt a similar numb sensation as infection began to spread up his arm - before Qyburn had treated it and probably saved his life. 

At that time, he'd still felt the ghost of his hand often - pain, itching, cold. Lately that had become a rare occurrence, but it came back now, pain stabbing at his wrist and spreading down to his non-existent fingers. 

He could tell his golden hand had been lost somewhere in the chaos, and his instant thought at the realisation was pleasure. He hated the cumbersome, uncomfortable thing, but Cersei had been insistent, and he'd long learnt the futility of arguing with her.

Brienne, wonderful Brienne had never needed such baubles to see him as whole, but he fought his mind's attempts to think of her. Almost every memory of her was a pleasant one and he did not deserve that. He didn't deserve to be happy after the way he'd left her, begging in the snow for him to stay. 

She was better off without him - he could never be the honourable man she saw in him no matter how he tried. His aching arm refused to ease, and he growled with pain and frustration. He was not afraid - he'd faced far worse things in his life than a slow death. In some ways this felt like a penance - if it was possible to atone for all he'd done.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

_The firelight glinted off Cersei's golden hair as Jaime ran his hand softly over it, turning each strand into a dancing flame. They were lying in bed, spent, and for the first time ever after they'd made love, she hadn't asked him immediately to leave - she'd fallen into a soft slumber, curled against his chest._

_She looked so peaceful there - he couldn't recall seeing her sleep since they were small and shared a room. He'd spent hours in those days just watching her breathe as she dreamed serenely._

_He couldn't resist stroking her hair one more time, extending his thumb to run over her cheek. He instantly regretted it as she stirred and opened her eyes - smiling at him for a moment before realisation hit and her face turned to revulsion. She pushed him away from her._

_"Jaime what the hell are you doing? Get the fuck out of my bed!"_

_Normally he would have heeded her without pause, but something in him this time made him resist - a longing perhaps for that peace¬ful, dreamlike moment they’d shared before the fire’s glow. He tensed against her pushing hands and she froze for a second._

_"Cersei, don't make me leave. I just want to sleep next to you." She recoiled at the suggestion._

_"I could never sleep beside you - what we do, what you do to me - it makes me feel disgusting. He could feel the tears pricking at his eyes in reaction to her words._

_"Cersei please..." she slapped him, hard - a sharp pain, stinging his cheek, and he realised the ring she wore had cut him when he raised his hand to find blood there._

_"Get away from me". This time he complied, darting for the door, if only in fear of what she might do next if he continued his attempt to remain._

_In contrast, the fire in his room had almost burned itself out when he returned there - he moved across to the nightstand to light a candle and was startled when he saw the shadowy outline of a figure move towards him from around the bed._

_He breathed out hard in relief as he realised who it was - by the size of the dark shape it could only be his little brother Tyrion. Shielding his face with one arm, he wiped the streak of blood and tears from his cheek with the open cuff of his other sleeve, trying to hide both from the child._

_Despite his tender age and diminutive stature, Tyrion was extraordinarily perceptive, and Jaime could tell he had failed in concealing both his injury and his distress. He cut the boy off just before he had chance to speak,_

_"What are you doing here?” He asked. It succeed in diverting the small boy's attention for only a moment,_

_"I couldn't sleep - what happened to your face?" Jaime paused for a few seconds before quickly coming up with a response._

_“I… l cut myself shaving". Tyrion eyebrows raised incredulously._

_“I don't believe you", he challenged back, "You've been gone for nearly an hour - and anyway, you’re barely old enough to need to shave yet"._

_Jaime hung his head for a moment. How was it that everyone in his life seemed to be able to outwit him, even down to his seven-year-old brother? Perhaps he really was as stupid as his father and Cersei had always told him he was._

_"I..." He gulped, before bursting into tears and dropping to his knees on the cold stone floor - he should have added more wood to the fire before he left. Tyrion was by his side in a second, tiny arms barely wrapping to the back of his elder brother's shoulders, but Jaime appreciated the comfort more than he could know._

_He felt a small measure of shame at his breakdown but knew the one person in this world he didn't need to hide his pain from was his clever little brother._

_"Tell me what really happened? Tyrion's voice was almost a whisper, and it pulled the truth from Jaime's lips._

_"Cersei hit me". A gentle hand lifted Jaime's chin to meet his brother's eyes, the other brushing over his wounded cheek. He winced at the contact but met the boy's bright eyes._

_"I know". Tyrion replied, "why do you let her be so mean to you?"_

_Jaime exhaled slowly - what right did this scrap of a child have to be so smart? He ran through a few pathetic fabricated answers before discarding them all and baring his soul._

_"Because I love her". The answer hung, thick, in the air for a few moments, Jaime almost fearing what his brother would say next, and what that might mean. He was glad he knew Tyrion would never speak to Cersei about anything he'd said, or he may also need to fear his sister's wrath._

_"I love you, but it doesn't mean I'd let you hurt me. Not without liking you less anyway". Jaime contained his relief - Tyrion was still too innocent to perceive what was really between he and Cersei, in spite of his intelligence._

_"She doesn't really mean it," Jaime replied weakly, "she just gets... frustrated sometimes. It's hard being a girl - all she wants is to impress father, but he doesn't seem to notice her”._

_"Well then she should hit father and not you. He deserves it far more anyway"._

_Jaime startled away from Tyrion as he heard footsteps approaching down the corridor - he hadn't pushed the door completely to and was suddenly terrified of who might have overheard them. The door opened slowly._

_Cersei's expressionless face appeared in the doorway, but it quickly turned to anger when her eyes laid on Tyrion._

_"What are YOU doing here!?" Her gaze flicked to her twin, "and what in seven halls have you done to Jaime!?"_

_Jaime watched Tyrion eyes dart between him and his sister, panicked. His protective instinct towards his little brother emboldened him in the face of her rage,_

_"Cersei, what are you talking about!? You did this" he gestured at his cheek, tensing against the fear that threaten¬ed to rise in his stomach at the boiling behind her eyes._

_But they softened, and she moved towards, him causing Tyrion to back away._

_"Jaime, darling, you know I would never hurt you." Her hand stroked tenderly over his hair, and she planted a kiss on his forehead. Jaime made as if to protest, but he couldn't find a way to argue with her without risking revealing too much to Tyrion._

_His brother's eyes, whilst filled with fear, still darted between the two of them and his expression had turned quizzical. Cersei registered where Jaime was looking, and turned, almost hissing, back towards the child._

_"How dare you hurt him like this you vile little shit - get out of here at once. And don't think I won't tell father!" Tyrion didn't hesitate to scamper away, with a final apologetic glance at his older brother as he did so._

_Returning her full attention back to Jaime, she rubbed over his shoulders a few times before he felt himself relaxing into her embrace, nestling his face into side of her neck. In spite of everything, this was still the safest place in the world._

_"There, there my sweetling… I'll make it all better. I won't let that nasty little thing hurt you any more"._


	4. Can You Feel the Love Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song for this Chapter is "Can You Feel the Love Tonight" by Elton John, yes it's hella cheesy - sorrynotsorry :-P
> 
> "There's a calm surrender to the rush of day  
> When the heat of a rolling wind can be turned away  
> An enchanted moment, and it sees me through  
> It's enough for this restless warrior just to be with you"

_The fires blazed as always in Winterfell's Great Hall, but a quiet chill had settled over the keep. Its occupants were sitting down to their evening meal in a rather emptier room than they had become accustomed to over the past weeks – the departure of Daenerys, Jon and their armies rendering the castle quiet and still._

_Brienne registered the change, but found herself little affected by it - for all the sudden emptiness in her surroundings, her heart was full. She glanced for the hundredth time in the few minutes since they'd sat down to the man sitting to her right, eyes dropping with a shy smile as he met them._

_His hand moved fractions of an inch across the table top, brushing his fingers subtly against hers and causing her stomach to turn over. For so many years, she'd heard songs of love and never related to them - not understanding how silly headed girls could find themselves overawed by the attentions of a man, when there were so many things that mattered more in the world - duty, honour, fighting injustice._

_Now despite her years of training and her fierce independence, suddenly nothing else mattered but her golden lion with the sea green eyes that had utterly captivated her. She was just one of those silly girls after all._

_It had been a week since the battle with the dead and practically every moment she'd been off duty during that time, she'd been with Jaime. Their injuries, both physical and mental, were healing - aided by the gentle exercise of long walks and light sparring. The greatest healing, though, had come from the countless hours he'd spent in her bed, learning every inch of her, and she him._

_She returned the brush of his fingers - needing to feel his presence, solid and real beside her. She hadn't believed he was really going to remain in Winterfell until everyone else had left, and even now she constantly needed to reassure herself he was still here._

_He avoided talking about the coming battle in Kings Landing and she didn't push him on it - she could tell he was in denial. Whatever happened she couldn't imagine the Dragon Queen allowing Cersei to live, and she was not ignorant of the consequences that were to come. She was content for now to live in their little bubble of happiness, and whenever that was shattered she would be there for Jaime and support him in any way he needed, for as long as he needed even if that was forever._

_She had always known how huge a part of his life Cersei was, the hold she had over him, and in spite of the strength of bond he had developed with Brienne, to expect him to magically forget Cersei was foolish in the extreme._

_The food had arrived, and Jaime withdrew his hand in order to make way for the serving dishes - she felt bereft for a few moments until his fingers toucher her again, this time against her knee, sending goosebumps prickling all the way up and down her leg…_

_She cast a guilty glance toward Sansa sitting at her left, worrying that the heat rushing to her face would give them away, but she was met with a soft expression. If Sansa had any notion of what was between she and Jaime, the young woman was masterful at hiding it. She had, however, been very warm in her invitation to him to remain in Winterfell, and Brienne knew too much of her intelligence to really believe she was unaware._

_She was uncertain, however, of whether her Lady would approve of Jaime's wandering hand at the dinner table. He traced up her thigh and over the curve of her buttock, searching for the hem of her shirt and slipping his hand underneath. She tried to keep her breathing even as his warm, rough fingers met the small of her back._

_Reaching over the table and digging a serving spoon into the dish of vegetables, she studiously ignored Jaime's smug-faced attempts to catch her eye, his fingers working softly against her back and causing her to shiver._

_She turned to her left, ladling winter-greens onto Sansa’s plate. Jaime took the opportunity her baring her whole back to him to run the flat of his hand over it and down to her hip, fingers tracing her spine as he went._

_Ignoring him was becoming increasingly difficult, but she managed it, scooping vegetables onto her own plate and then gesturing towards him to ask if he wished to be served._

_He answered merely with an eyebrow, raising his golden hand to indicate his inability to fill his own plate - of course he would be perfectly capable of doing so if his remaining hand wasn't engaged in its persistent distraction…_

_It was the servant who came around the table to cut Jaime's meat for him that finally forced him to remove his hand. Brienne could still feel the ghost of his warm skin against hers, probing her defences, and she had to admit they were easy for him to breach._

_She found she had little appetite for the food in front of her, her imagination wandering to what might occur after the meal when they could be alone._

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Brienne woke with a start, rubbing the back of her hand across her gummy eyes. She could tell by the ache behind them that it was still early - the room was dark aside from the glow of the fire, but she usually rose before dawn in any case so she couldn't really guess at the time.

Wondering what had woken her, she became aware of how hot she was - peeling back the furs her arm brushed across wet skin. Her stomach and chest were soaking with sweat.

She rose from the bed, enjoying the cool rush of air on her body - ordinarily getting up was an unpleasant experience in the freezing North, but not tonight - she savoured the sensation.

Looking to the fireplace as she moved across to the wash stand, she felt a sense of confusion as she observed the dying embers. How could she have gotten so warm? Even when she'd had Jaime sharing the bed with her she hadn't woken due to overheating.

She attempted to banish the thought of him as she stood before the window - taking a washcloth from the stand she dipped it into the bowl and wrung out the excess. The damp cool cloth was a relief as she ran it across the back of her neck and down between her breasts. 

There was no sign of dawn on the horizon - she'd only been asleep for an hour, two at most. Glancing down into the courtyard she could see a couple of figures moving around in the dim light of the lamps, likely stable hands finishing up the last few tasks of the day.

The castle looked a little different - maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed as if the piles of snow cleared to the walls were somewhat smaller. The wind which had howled around the tower for the past few weeks also seemed to have dropped.

She ran the cloth over her stomach one last time before dropping it onto the table. A thaw had arrived, or at least a break in the weather - perhaps whatever magic had animated the dead had brought the cold with them and their defeat had rendered the world warmer again.

Moving to the trunk at the foot of her bed, she rummaged around until she found a soft, light blanket and spread it over the bed before climbing in. Her battle to keep her thoughts from Jaime failed as she realised she'd been dreaming of him - at least in dreams she could enjoy thoughts of him, without pain or anger.

Over the past few days, anger had become the predominant emotion. In some ways, her anger didn't feel justified – she always feared he would leave and go back to Cersei, always knew it was a possibility - but the longer he'd remained with her the more she'd convinced herself he'd moved on. 

She found being angry with him hard when she loved him so much, and so she directed it more towards herself for her naivety. Sansa would scoff at her, curse Jaime and try to offer comfort but she struggled to think badly of him in spite of everything. Not when she understood so much of what motivated him. She’d just hoped that in spite of everything what they’d shared would be have been enough. But she had been a fool.

She closed her eyes and tried to settle back down, hoping she would dream of him again.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

_After what seemed like an eternity, the dessert dishes were cleared away and Sansa took her leave,_

_"You are excused for the rest of the evening, Ser Brienne, I intend to go to the hot spring. I hope you will also find some time to relax". Her eyes flicked to Jaime - a split second look, but long enough for any doubt Brienne had as to the young woman's knowledge of their relationship to be completely dispelled. She tried to hide her embarrassment, with what she suspected to be little success,_

_"Thank you my Lady - enjoy your bath”. Brienne made her own exit from the room, with a very pointed look at Jaime as she did. Naturally, he wore a self-satisfied smirk, at both his actions during dinner and Sansa's subtle disclosure. She tried to make her look such that he'd be left wondering whether or not he was in trouble - of course he wasn’t really, but if he could play games then so could she._

_She felt a small measure of irritation at his ability to disrupt her usually serious demeanour, but she chased it away quickly. It was probably good for her._

_He caught up with her halfway up the stairs to her room, catching her around the waist and pushing her against the wall. In truth he was not strong enough overpower her, but to her simultaneous horror and delight she let him do it - a thrill rushing through her as he pressed against her, already half-hard._

_She was certain he had a wisecrack comment all ready, but she cut him off before he had the chance to speak,_

_"That wasn't very Knightly". She jutted her chin at him, wondering when she'd become so confident in playing the games he created._

_"You mean grabbing a Lady in the corridor, or my behaviour at dinner?" He was so pleased with himself, his lips such small fractions of an inch from hers she could almost taste his breath,_

_"Both. You've behaved appallingly for the past hour." He laughed slightly,_

_"Well it's a good thing I have a plan to make it up to you then", his eyes softened - his ability to suddenly turn sweet still caught her off guard. He leaned towards her ear, shivers running down her neck as he spoke,_

_"I’m going to make love to you all night long – in fact, you’ll have to beg me to stop". It was a cliched line, but it had the desired effect on her, she felt a tremble in her knees and had to press back against the wall to keep her balance. She defended against the perceived weakness by continuing the game just a little longer,_

_"Judging by the bulge in your trousers I'll be surprised if your 'all night' is more than about ten minutes". Her forthrightness clearly surprised him. He took a single step backwards, releasing her from the embrace and offering her his arm,_

_"My Lady Ser, will you allow me to escort you to your room? I promise to behave like a proper knight for at least the rest of the evening". She accepted his arm without further comment, shooting him a quick smile._

_He returned it - the line where their flirtations turned from playful sarcasm to passion was still blurry and passed through awkwardness on the way. They exchanged no further words, merely shy glances as they made the rest of the way to her room._

_Jaime held the door for her, a new intensity in his eyes and all thought of the game was forgotten. He pressed a soft hand against the small of her back as she entered the room, closing the door behind them._

_She turned to face him, waiting for him to make the next move - still lacking the confidence to initiate intimacy. He must have read the hesitation in her eyes, as he stepped forward, closing the short distance between them and running the back of his fingers over her cheek before placing a gentle kiss on her lips._

_He took her hand, leading her not towards the bed but to the fire side, kneeling on the furs before the hearth and motioning her to join him. She complied, dropping to her knees by the flames and meeting his lips where they awaited her._

_Their kiss was slow and easy, and lingered like the winter snows - clothing discarded piece by lazy piece as they melted into one another. Finally naked they lay down, hot damp flesh against hot damp flesh - the firelight allowing them to really see one another for the first time._

_Drawing back from her as she lay before him, he swept a long, slow desire filled look down her body and she did not shrink from his gaze but met it - awed by the beauty of the catch light in his eyes._

_He followed his look with his hand, tracing light fingers down her chest and over her stomach as he shuffled backwards, parting her thighs with his shoulders as he settled there. She found herself drawing in a long breath of anticipation as his head bowed to offer a kiss of a rather more intimate kind._

_The heat of his mouth felt almost impossible where it met against tender flesh. She moaned in pleasure as he began to work his tongue against her, a deep, throaty moan but she cared not for how she sounded._

_He began slowly, but she found herself impatient after the long ritual of their undressing and she urged him on. He was a fast learner and had ample knowledge of how to please her from their short time together._

_After a few more swift strokes, she fell over the precipice crying out unheedingly. He slowed his pace in response, but did not stop, continuing to work his tongue against her swollen flesh, beginning the build up again._

_Her head swam with stars, and she lost count of how many times he drove her over the edge but he did not stop until she dropped her trembling hands to his head, mussing his hair and finally finding her voice,_

_"Jaime... enough," was all she could manage to say, and he ceased his relentless dance, pressing the flat of his tongue against her for a few seconds before withdrawing it and pushing himself up on his arms to move back over her._

_Skin on skin once more, his throbbing erection pressed against her stomach, hot and hard. His arousal at giving her pleasure thrilled her and she instinctively canted her hips towards him, inviting him to take her._

_He did, slowly, eyes dark and intense, defying her to look away. She did not, locking her eyes to his as he stilled, cock buried deep inside her. Then he started to move, long measured strokes that stirred something in her core, a primal ache that built and built as she lost herself in the liquid fire of his gaze._

_He began to growl, an animal sound in the back of his throat, that grew until he spilled himself into her with a jerk, pulling her over the edge with him one more time and she felt her inner muscles pulsing around him - neither broke eye contact for a second._

_Both shaking, they rolled to their sides, lips clumsy against cheeks and eyelids before finding one another – messy kisses interspersed with gasping breaths._

_Brienne tried to slow her breathing, but as she did she realised Jaime's panting was turning into ragged sobs. She took his face in her hands, meeting his eyes with concern as they filled with tears,_

_"Jaime, my love, what's wrong!?" His eyes dipped, an odd guilt forming there._

_"I... You... you don't want to know". The tears continued,_

_"Whatever it is, you can tell me" she cradled his head against her chest, fingers combing through his hair._

_"I just... I never felt like that before. I never thought I'd be with someone who... wanted me like that. For me". She ignored the implied third person in his words, and what it said about her, and his past life._

_"I want you for you. Always". ___


	5. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song for this Chapter is "Scars" by Boy Epic
> 
> "Run love  
> I'm the truth that you're afraid of  
> I'm a fever that you made up  
> Just a martyr on a bridge that's burning down
> 
> Can you see my scars  
> Can you feel my heart  
> This is all of me for all of the world to see"

_Sunlight shafted in through the high windows, illuminating every mote of dust that floated in the suddenly still air. Jaime breathed hard, his head swimming. He looked down at his sword, washed red with the blood of the two men collapsed at his feet._

_It dripped thickly onto the floor, the sound amplified in his ringing ears, drip, drip, drip… A final strangled gasp emanated from the almost corpse that had been his king. The king he had sworn to protect. The king whose lifeblood ran from his sword…_

_His vision started to blur, his face to numb and he staggered backwards, collapsing onto the steps before the Iron Throne. His sword hung loosely in his hand, smearing a long red streak across his formerly pristine white cloak._

_He tried once again to gain control of his breathing. When they came for him, and they would come, he must seem surer of himself. He must not shame his father on top of everything else. Tywin would pledge for Robert Baratheon - Jaime must protect the throne from any other who might try to take it._

_He gathered himself enough to climb the rest of the way up the dais, steadying himself against the arm of the twisted mass of swords before sitting down heavily upon it. He tried to look composed._

_That was where Ned Stark found him, lounging on the throne, doing his best to appear self-assured. Jaime wished in that moment, and for the long years afterward when this day would haunt his dreams, that it had been someone else. Anyone else but the most gods-damned honourable man in the seven Kingdoms._

_He followed the trail of Neds gaze to the fallen Aerys, the crimson-stained sword in his hand, and finally to the point where their eyes met. Reflected there he found only the disgust he would see a hundred thousand times more in the years that followed, but that would never rival the revulsion he felt for himself. The fact that he'd had no real choice didn't matter._

_"You did this." It was half statement, half question - Ned could be in no doubt as to what had occurred, his uncertainty a sign of his disbelief… Jaime tried to remain cool,_

_"He was going to burn the city - he killed..." Ned cut him off in mid-flow,_

_"You are King's Guard. You swore an oath!" He turned to the men who had followed him into the room,_

_"See that this man is held until the new king is ready to deal with him." He turned back to Jaime,_

_"You are not fit to sit there - go with my men. You will answer to his grace Robert Baratheon for this". Jaime could see Ned was not prepared to listen to him._

_He stepped down from the throne, throwing his sword down beside it and making his slow walk through the Great Hall, the eyes of the Northmen boring into him. He felt every one of them, but most of all the leaden gaze of Lord Stark, a man he respected, but who would never now return his regard._

_Four of them moved to flank him as he approached the door, four faces that would be imprinted on his memory like a seal on wax - his gaze was fixed straight ahead as they exited the room, so he could never be sure which of them had hissed,_

__

__

_"Kingslayer"._

^^^^^^^^^^^^

It was impossible to know how much time had passed, trapped here in the muffled dark. Jaime had become increasingly aware of the pressure all around him, crushing him to the ground and preventing him from even lifting his head. He fought the rising sense of panic - his instincts kicking in and eliciting a fight or flight response. 

The feeling was not unfamiliar - taking him back to Winterfell and the hordes of dead, back pressed to the castle wall as he became sure he would drown under the endless waves - he fought then and Brienne reached down to pull him to his feet so he could battle on. 

It took him back to a lake on the Gold Road, water forcing its way into his lungs with the shock as he broke its surface, dragon fire scorching the hair on the back of his neck, sinking to the depths in his heavy armour, before Bronn on that occasion dragged him back from oblivion.

But there was no-one this time to pull him out of his certain tomb, no-one to save him from the folly that had landed him here - the corpse of his beloved sister growing cold beside him.

It was fitting really, that he would die here in this place - he had already been trapped here for so many years before this day - trapped by duty and honour, by oaths and by circumstance. Trapped by his own foolish choices for good or ill. Trapped by a name - Lannister, and by another - Kingslayer.

Nothing good had happened here, so he deserved to have it be his end. He deserved to die without honour, the way that he had lived.

"You have forsaken every vow you ever took". Catelyn’s words taunted him. Was she right? Had he failed to keep them all? Here buried in the long dark, in the yawning belly of the earth, fighting the image of a pair of sapphire blue eyes liquid with tears - tears he had caused - it certainly felt like it.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

_Jaime dropped his armour onto the floor by the table, sitting down hard into the easy chair near the fireplace. King Robert had made him wear it, to re-swear his oath. It was not how he'd expected his hearing would go, and he was certain his readmittance into the King's Guard was in no small part down to his father's influence._

_He'd seen the cold stare exchanged between Tywin and Ned Stark as he knelt before the Iron Throne, head bowed to his sword. The only thing of it that pleased him was that he could return to his old room - familiarity a comfort despite the scorn he'd received, and would doubtless continue to receive, from his sworn comrades._

_Deep in his thoughts, he had completely failed to notice he was not alone,_

_"It never fails to astonish me how unobservant you are brother. It's a good thing you don't make keeping watch your living". She moved towards him, cat like, and he instantly knew she was in the mood for games. The dangerous kind of games where one wrong move would ensnare him._

_"Thanks to father, and likely a large quantity of gold pledged to the crown, I get to resume that honour". It cut him how little she thought of what he did, despite that fact it was all for her. So he could remain close to her._

_"It wasn't only gold he bought Robert with - it was with me". Her gaze challenged him, demanded of him, but he could only respond with shock,_

_"You're to marry the king!?" Jealousy rose in him like an inferno, he tried to damp it down but he could tell she saw it, and liked it. She came a few steps closer._

_"We knew I would have to marry. After Rhaegar - it was only a matter of time before father secured me another match". She was so matter of fact about it, so cold almost, but when she said the word match he could tell she was pleased. Pleased to have secured such a powerful husband._

_"And will you be so thrilled when you have to share his bed?" He knew he was pushing her more than he should, but the jealousy continued to burn. She knew, and delighted in toying with it,_

_"Robert is very handsome. And I daresay a skilled lover – why should I not be thrilled?" He stood then, almost throwing himself at her, a firm arm around her back. They'd been apart for several weeks during the Sack and his subsequent incarceration – he was instantly aroused by their close contact and he made sure she could feel it._

_"Because you already have me". She didn't try to hide her amusement,_

_"You're my brother. And you clearly missed me". He kissed her then, roughly, the way she kissed him - when it pleased her._

_“This is all a game to you, isn't it? You and me. We’re two halves of one whole. How could you possibly think of anyone else?” He knew he was being ridiculous, knew this day was always going to come and its arrival was no more her choice than it was his. But that didn't make it hurt any less…_

_"Hush my love", she brushed a soft hand over his golden locks, “you know I have to do this - I will always be thinking of you. My valiant lion. My... Kingslayer". He took a long step back from her, aghast._

_“Don't call me that. Never call me that". He had shocked her, he could tell._

_"Why not - it's what you are”. It's what you are. She was right - he'd seen it in Ned Stark’s eyes, and in the eyes of every Northman. He'd seen it from the rest of the King's Guard. Every where he went from this day forward, he would see it again. Minds made up - it's what he is after all. Not Jaime Lannister. Not anymore._

_"I don't want it to be who I am - a man without honour, that’s what people think of me". She scoffed and it pained him,_

_"Who gives a shit about honour!?" She would never understand how those words crushed him - honour meant everything to him._

_"I do. You realise they're all laughing at me. Laughing at my failure to become everything I ever wanted to be"._

_"None of that matters my love. Not Robert Baratheon, not your stupid honour. All that matters is you and me. We’re the only two people in the world". She brought her lips back to his then, hard, and pressed herself against him._


	6. What If?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song for this Chapter is "What If" by Five for Fighting
> 
> "You made your mind up before you knew me  
> If you don't get it then you don't get it
> 
> Take my hand for a minute  
> We're in it  
> Imagine all the pain that might be forgiven"

"Copper for your thoughts?" Brienne started - she hadn't noticed Sansa's light-footed approach across the fresh fall of snow. It had begun just after lunch and now the evening sun was starting to drop below the castle walls, painting the sky with an orange glow, it was about two or three inches deep. So much for her theory that the thaw had arrived.

"You can probably guess". She was doing her best to be stoic - with everything that was going on in the world, who had time to care about Brienne of Tarth’s broken heart? Keeping busy helped, but in the quiet moments her thoughts could only ever tend in one direction. She wondered if that would ever change - if she would ever truly be able to settle to life after Jaime Lannister. All she knew was that, for now at least, he filled her head. Sansa didn't press her.

"I didn't know you kept the old gods". Brienne had been seated beneath the weirwood tree when Sansa came upon her, bare feet submerged in the pool in spite of the cold.

"I don't, my lady, at least... I've never much been one for faith or gods, but with everything that's happened... I guess I needed to try and get some perspective." Sansa simply nodded,

“I can understand that. This world is a cruel place - it's hard to believe in anything sometimes. But strangely, when your faith is most tested is when you need it the most". She moved over to Brienne's side - the larger woman spreading out one edge of her cloak so Sansa would have somewhere to sit down. Their legs touched, and Brienne drew comfort from the physical contact. She realised how much she'd been missing the touch of another person - something she'd lacked for so many years but had quickly grown accustomed to. 

She wondered then if their chance meeting was not so chance, and if Sansa had in fact sought her out. She looked at the younger woman for the first time as a friend, not just as the lady she served, admiring how much she'd grown since their first meeting. It induced her to be forthright,

"I miss him". It was a simple statement, but it carried so much weight - miss in this case was a Jaime Lannister shaped hole in her soul she didn't know if she, or anyone else, would ever be able to fill…

"Of course you do, you’re in love with him. He doesn't deserve it, but you are". Sansa was being protective, and righteously angry on her behalf, and she appreciated it - but she was determined she would be the only one to judge who did or didn't deserve her love.

"He's not what everybody thinks you know". Defending him had seemed stupid and hollow for a time, but she'd come to realise it was, in many ways, defending her own judgement. She couldn't have been so wrong about him - _wasn't_ so wrong about him. She knew it, she'd seen the real Jaime underneath the reputation, the bravado and bullshit. All his bluster and arrogance was to keep people at arm’s length, to protect his vulnerable heart. Part of her clung to the possibility he was doing exactly that again right now.

"You've always been a good judge of character. I don't know what you saw in him that the rest of us didn’t, but it must be there". Brienne had, until this moment, closely guarded every bit of the real Jaime she'd been witness to. But now seemed the time, and the person with whom, to share.

As the sun sank below the horizon, and the godswood filled with shadows, Brienne told Sansa the real story of the Kingslayer that Jaime had trusted her with all those years ago in Harrenhal. And in the process, she transported herself back to that day, most of all to that part of the story she would not be sharing with the Lady of Winterfell.

^^^^^^^^

_Brienne stirred from where she dozed in the chair. Qyburn was moving around the bed to check on Jaime, switching the cold flannel on his forehead for a fresh one. The dressing on his stump had already been changed - the previous one cast to the ground, stained with blood and a stinking pus that made Brienne stomach heave._

_"The fever has broken. He'll live". The former maester left the room, thankfully throwing the soiled bandages into the fire on his way out._

_She let her head rest back into the chair, rolling it to one side so she could see where he lay unmoving on the bed. He looked so small there, the layers of egotism stripped away - the golden lion of Lannister, the Kingslayer, appearing nothing more than a little boy on his sick bed. It was the first time she had seen him clean of filth and truly at rest. She'd wondered at Roose Bolton's hospitality when they were essentially treasonous fugitives in the eyes of those loyal to the North - but he'd certainly provided them with comfortable accommodation and she would worry about the rest of it later when she was certain Jaime would live._

_That Qyburn believed he was out of danger was a relief. She found herself caring more about his wellbeing in the past hours since he gave her his confidence, and not just in regard to the fulfilment of her oath to Catelyn. She carried a new warmth for Jaime Lannister - something she'd never believed could happen. But she was not too proud to admit she'd been wrong about him - just like everyone else._

_Her wandering mind took a minute or two to realise a pair of unfocussed eyes were regarding her quietly. She rose from her chair and moved over to his side,_

_"Jaime? Jaime can you hear me?" her voice was not above a whisper,_

_"Lady Brienne..." he coughed slightly and made as if he was trying to sit up, but his strength failed him, "... it is you. I wasn't sure". He seemed very weak, but his face was a healthier colour and his skin was no longer clammy. She seated herself on the bed beside him,_

_"How are you feeling?" He frowned at her - she wasn't certain if it was because he was trying to work out how to reply or whether he was wondering when she’d started caring enough to ask._

_"I think... I’m alive". He'd lost none of his sarcasm - the best sign she could imagine that he WAS, in fact, feeling better. She smiled,_

_"I’m glad. I’m not sure my delivering your corpse to King's Landing was quite what Lady Catelyn had in mind". She expected him to chuckle - to appreciate her offering him banter to play off, but for once, he didn't. He simply replied,_

_“You called me Jaime". He was so earnest she felt a wave of affection to add to the respect he'd gained from his earlier disclosure. She had no idea it meant so much to him - she thought he basked in his epithet - but she ought to realise after their earlier conversation, it was in truth something he hid behind. That he wanted her to call him by his real name suggested the trust he'd declared in her was genuine._

_"Well, it is your name". He smiled then, the first smile she'd seen from him that wasn't flippant or mocking._

_"You'd be amazed how many people have forgotten that. And the fact I'm a knight, but of course most of them don't think I’m fit to bear the title.” She'd already gotten a taste of the pain he bore in the baths earlier, but here it was more wistful. He really was hurt by what people thought of him. It must be difficult, she mused, everyone already having an opinion of you wherever you went. She had a taste of that of course being what she was, but at least she could silence them with a sword. There was nothing he could do or say to change most people's minds about him. Except he had managed to change hers. She hoped that counted for something at least,_

_"You'll always be a worthy knight in my eyes. You've proven yourself that". He looked surprised and genuinely happy,_

_"Turns out you find allies in the strangest places. We come from opposing sides of a war and yet somehow we found common ground. I suppose that means we aren't that different after all. I’m sorry, by the way." She was a little confused as to what it was he was apologising for, "for the way I spoke to you when we first met. It was... unforgivable"._

_She met his eyes and was greeted with an expression of real regret, and she found herself wondering how he managed to hide his true self so effectively – she’d gained his respect and that meant he was now desperate for her approval. Something he didn’t often get from people._

_"I forgive you. I've had worse over the years, and as I said, you've done more than enough to redeem yourself in my eyes." He looked pensive for a second,_

_"So that truce we were talking about? Are we done fighting?" It was her turn to pause, phrasing carefully what she wanted to say next,_

_"I'd say you've earnt my trust. I don't want to fight any more either. It's heart-breaking when you think about it - how many people who could be friends are on opposite sides of this war. At least we can remedy a little of that"._

_"I was always taught family was more important than anything - that you can only trust family. That’s a whole lot of the world to write off if you stick rigidly to that". He yawned, and she stood, turning to leave,_

_"You're tired - you still have a lot of recovering to do. I'll let you get some rest." She took a few steps towards the door before she heard him speak again,_

_"Stay". It was quiet, but she knew she had not misheard what he'd said, "please... stay". She moved back to his side, squeezing his hand gently before tucking the blanket over him. She pulled the chair up closer to the bed and seated herself back down. He closed his eyes and before long, was snoring softly as Brienne settled in to watch him sleep._


	7. Loving You is a Losing Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song for this Chapter is "Arcade" by Duncan Laurence
> 
> "A broken heart is all that's left  
> I'm still fixing all the cracks  
> Lost a couple of pieces when  
> I carried it, carried it, carried it home.
> 
> I'm afraid of all I am  
> My mind feels like a foreign land  
> Silence ringing inside my head
> 
> I don't need your games, game over  
> Get me off this rollercoaster
> 
> All I know, all I know  
> Loving you is a losing game"

_Cersei's face wrinkled in pain, her breath coming in short ragged gasps. Jaime tried not to wince at how hard she grasped his hand, crushing his fingers together - his pain was nothing to hers. After long minutes of gritting his teeth, her grip loosened and the creases on her face smoothed. She took a few more deep breaths before looking to him and smiling - the fatigue clear in her eyes in spite of her good spirits._

_Grand Maester Pycelle moved around the bed, pressing a hand against the Queen's belly as he peered between her legs. Cersei turned her head to the side, her discomfort with the old man clear, but she said nothing._

_"The babe will be here before long, your Grace". He poured a glass of water and handed it to her. Jaime helped her sit up a little more so she could drink, a few drops running over her cracked lips and dripping onto the bedspread._

_"Do you hear that, my love, you're doing so well - just a short while longer and o... the baby will be here". He smoothed strands of hair away from her face where they clung to her damp skin. She nodded up at him with big trusting eyes, and his heart swelled at how much reliance she was placing on him._

_Under normal circumstances, she never allowed herself to be vulnerable, even to him. But this was the one time when he knew he could just be there for her and there would be no cat and mouse games. Just the simplicity of her needing him and him fulfilling that need - almost like a normal relationship. Almost…_

_Her face contorted once more, and he held her – reminding her to breathe, providing the strength for her to cling to so her own wouldn’t fail her. She cried out, gritting her teeth, veins standing out on her neck with the effort. Then, a higher pitched cry cut through the air and Cersei relaxed with a sigh._

_"It's a girl," Pycelle declared. And then, Jaime saw her, wrinkled and bloody, but with a head of downy golden hair. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen - their daughter. He loved Joffrey with all his heart, but something about his son always told him the boy would take care of himself. He felt a wave of protect-iveness for this tiny girl that came from somewhere deeper. He'd never felt so much like a lion as he did in that moment - he would kill anyone who tried to hurt his family._

_After cleaning her off, the Maester placed the baby on Cersei's chest, where she encouraged the baby to nurse – it took some effort but after a few moments she got the idea and latched on._

_Jaime watched in wonder – there was something so much more magical than with Joffrey’s birth. He remembered that day mostly with fear – for Cersei’s wellbeing and the child, and for whether their indiscretion would be discovered. He was young and knew so little of what was happening he’d been unable to enjoy watching his son come into the world in spite of Cersei’s joy._

_Now, watching his newborn daughter snuffling at Cersei's breast was the most captivating thing he'd ever seen. After nursing for a short time, the babe fell asleep, mouth open and peaceful._

_"Do you want to hold her?" Jaime's heart soared as he took in her words - of course he wanted to hold his child in his arms. Circumstances had prevented him being around for Joffrey as much as he would have wanted – perhaps this time they could work out a way for it to be different. He was just positioning himself to take her when there was a commotion outside and the door flew open,_

_"Let’s see her then - obviously I'd have preferred another boy but at least I’ll have someone to marry off when we need to secure alliances," Robert guffawed as he charged into the room. Cersei regarded Jaime anxiously,_

_"You have to go," she whispered with urgency. Jaime reluctantly tore himself away - with one final glance at his sleeping daughter he left the room._

^^^^^^^^^

Fear and panic had left Jaime now where he lay entombed, resigned to his stony prison, his whole being a dull pain, breathing shallow. He felt Cersei’s silent presence all the more now as he faded in and out of consciousness, wondering each time if this would be his last waking.

At least she was with her children now. He always thought of them as her children even though they were an equal part his. It wasn't like he'd ever gotten to be their father, or that any of them had even known who their real father was. Well... one of them had, for the briefest imaginable period of time, but he didn't like to think too much about that. Amongst all his many failures it was probably the one that brought him the most pain.

He would have liked to be a real father. His relationship with his own father had been rocky at best, but he'd seen others share a bond with theirs he could only look at with wistful longing. If he was honest, he’d had no idea how to be a parent, even if his attempts hadn’t been horribly complicated by circumstance.

The romantic part of him had always imagined loving them would be enough. He’d wondered for years whether his own father truly loved him – if he did, Jaime wished he’d done more to show it. 

Of all the many things anyone could say about his sister, she had always lavished love upon her children. They were the only thing she’d ever put before herself, and yet she’d ended up losing them all, but then perhaps that had been pre-ordained.

He'd never held much store by what she had told him of the witch's prophecy but perhaps... he shook the thought away. Superstitious nonsense, and death was so commonplace in this world, especially over these past years of war, that it could easily have been a lucky guess.

He wondered then, at what kind of father he would have been if he'd made different choices. If he hadn't joined the Kings Guard just to be close to Cersei and had taken a different path - perhaps even married.

A flash of Brienne came to him then, unbidden. Could he have made it work with her if he'd stayed? Could children - children that would be truly his - have been part of their future? What she had told him of her relationship with her own father made him feel sure that she would have taught him all he needed to know.

It was pointless to think these thoughts now, when he had made his fateful choice and there was no changing his mind. However, the image of what their life together could have been made all those reasons he'd had for leaving and coming back to Cersei infinitely more distant even as he lay beside her body.

For the first time, he allowed the full pain of loss to flood him, to really feel it. He had brought all this on himself and he had to acknowledge he could have made a different choice. That despite everything that had made Cersei the focus of his entire life, Brienne had, for a time, made him think about someone else before her. 

And for the first time ever, he felt regret for fighting his way back to his sister, when he could have made a different life for himself. And even though none of that mattered now, just the realisation felt profoundly important.

In spite of his growing dehydration, he found a single tear to shed before he fell back into a fitful sleep.

^^^^^^^^

_Jaime's heart raced as he halted his headlong flight down the hallway. He wasn't sure what had made him start to run, but he'd been suddenly possessed with the urge to be as far away from Cersei's birthing room as possible. Of course, there was that part of him that couldn't bear to be anywhere else - that wanted to fight every one of those that would have him leave to the death and take his family away to safety._

_But he knew that could never happen, even if Cersei would allow it, which of course she wouldn't. Any attempt to do anything of the sort would be the end of all of them and he could never risk that just for them all to be together. And so, as he had before, he had to walk, or run, away and let another man be father to his child, and not just that but a man he had virtually no respect for._

_He ducked into an archway, panting, squatting down on his haunches with his head in his hands. His daughter was healthy, and beautiful, and he tried his hardest to be focused on that. It was all that really mattered at the end of the day, not his feelings._

_He finally took a moment to glance at his surroundings - it was later in the day than he'd thought, and the lamps had already been lit - casting a soft shadowy glow along the corridor. The drapes had been drawn to keep the heat of the sun from Cersei’s face as she laboured and so he’d lost all track of time._

_He watched as the long shadow of his little brother, rendered taller than he would ever have been even as a man of normal height, approach him. Jaime quickly gathered himself._

_“Is everything all right brother?" Tyrion had a genuine expression of concern._

_"Yes... yes all is well. I just... ah never mind". Jaime heard the pathetically constructed response as if someone else had said it and he laughed at himself internally. As if that would do anything to dissuade his brother’s curiosity._

_"Cersei - the baby... " Tyrion trailed off. In spite of his strained relationship with their sister he genuinely seemed to care about her wellbeing, and that of her child. Jaime realised how his appearance must look, and how worried it must have made his brother,_

_"A girl - a beautiful healthy girl. Cersei is well, tired of course but that’s to be expected". Jaime’s sense of detachment from his own body increased – he felt somehow separated from the storm of emotions that besieged him, as if this was happening to someone else and he was watching from above._

_"Excellent news. And so why is it that give skulking out here in the corridor looking like the world's ended?" Jaime didn't need to lift his head to picture the knowing expression that would be plastered on his brother's face. He didn't want to have this conversation, and he made sure the look he gave Tyrion when he finally did meet his eye told him that in no uncertain terms._

_Tyrion regarded him for a few seconds and Jaime watched his brother’s brilliant mind figure out its next move. He wasn't sure what he was expecting in response but Tyrion finally said,_

_“I think we should celebrate the safe arrival of our new niece. Would you care to join me in my apartment for a drink... or five?" The last thing Jaime wanted to do was get a skinful and end up saying something he shouldn't - but drowning his sorrows sounded pretty bloody good night now. Plus, Tyrion was right - the baby was healthy and safe and he must keep reminding himself of that._

_The walk to his brother's rooms seemed longer than it usually did. In truth Jaime was dragging his feet, as he was in no great rush to sit facing Tyrion across a table and brave his challenging stares. When they arrived at the apartment, he tried to take up a seat by the fire, but Tyrion pulled out a chair for him at the table just like Jaime had known he would. He reluctantly took it, and Tyrion placed a goblet before him, carelessly sloshing wine into it._

_"I opened the Dornish red - only the best for a special occasion". Jaime's only hope was keeping Tyrion more drunk than him, but given his brother's capacity for alcohol that would be no mean feat._

_He dragged his feet all the more as he made his way over to the offered chair and sat down. Tyrion's gaze demanded his atten¬tion, and he regarded his brother full in the face for the first time. Tyrion's fingers worked against the stem of his wine goblet as formulated his next sentence,_

_"I'd ask if you want to talk about it, but I know you think you don't, so what I need to do is figure out how to persuade you that you do". His head tilted to one side and Jaime resisted the urge to look away,_

_"Meanwhile I need to work out how to persuade you that there’s nothing to talk about". Jaime's foot knocked against the table leg as he sunk back in his chair, attempting to appear relaxed._

_"Why would you need to persuade me - surely all you need to do is look me in the eye and tell the truth." Jaime tried to look as steadily at his brother as he could,_

_“There's nothing to talk about". Tyrion burst out laughing,_

_“You always were a terrible liar." Jaime made a show of taking a long drink from his goblet, buying time to work out his response, but it didn't help - Tyrion had him and he knew it. He employed the only tactic he could come up with to try and wriggle out of the noose - playing for sympathy,_

_"I imagine it takes brains to lie and after all, I am the stupidest Lannister". He felt his own challenge in the words, was he challenging Tyrion to disagree with him?_

_"You've been told that so many times you've really started to believe it haven't you? You've let father and Cersei belittle you and tell you you're less than you are your entire life. And you'd think with my height I'd be the most downtrodden!” Tyrion drank again, prompting Jaime to take another swig. He doubted he was going to come anywhere close to winning this battle, but he objected to Tyrion calling him downtrodden even if he knew it was true._

_"So what exactly is it you think I need to talk about?" Tyrion's mouth twitched upwards into a half smile - Jaime almost felt he saw a hint of grudging respect there for just a second before he guarded his face again,_

_"I'd have thought you'd know me well enough to know I won't make it that easy. You might be my favourite brother but that doesn't mean I'll give up my sport"._

_"I’m your only brother. And I would have hoped you wouldn't want to make sport out of my misery." Tyrion raised an eyebrow, but had the decency not to look triumphant,_

_"Misery? Well if you're miserable, who better to talk to about it than your favourite brother?" He raised his glass to Jaime, tipping his head at the same instant._

_"You’re my only bro... damn you why am I even bothering?" Jaime drained his glass and Tyrion was poised to refill it the moment he put it down,_

_"Because even when you're miserable you don't want to spoil your brother's sport. And that's why you're my favourite". He topped up his own glass then placed the decanter down,_

_"A toast - to the newest member of our family," Tyrion took a long sip before raising his glass again, "and another - to_ my _favourite brother trusting_ his _favourite brother enough to tell him what’s bothering him". There was no escape now, no hiding behind words that would never be as well-crafted or skilful as his opponent. Where he fought with swords, Tyrion fought with words and there could only be one victor here._

_He couldn't phrase a response, so he simply nodded - convinced Tyrion's keen mind had already figured everything out. Tyrion motioned to Jaime’s glass and he raised it to clink against his brother's, sealing the toast. Tyrion settled back in his chair, saying nothing more, but creating a space in which Jaime could make his confession._

_He took one more long drink, praying for courage as he felt a lightness rise in his head – and it was not just from the wine. More than a little detachment would be required if he was going to get through this, but he knew in his heart of hearts that his brother was the one person in the world he could really trust. He had to believe their bond could survive this,_

_"Cersei… I... we're more than brother and sister". He almost felt sick, and yet at the same time a sense of relief washed over him. Carrying such a huge secret was exhausting. Tyrion's expression remained neutral and he took another drink before replying,_

_"It's your baby". It was half statement, half question, and Jaime wasn't sure at first if Tyrion expected a response, but then his brother continued,_

_"And Joffrey?" This was a more obvious question and Jaime found himself nodding guiltily, gaze fixed on his wine glass. Without looking up he asked,_

_"Do you hate me?" The silence stretched for long painful moments and Jaime almost looked up, despite the fear of what his brother's expression would show, when he felt Tyrion’s hand on his shoulder. His brother had moved around the table to Jaime’s side, and when he met his eyes the look he found there was one of nothing but compassion,_

_"I could never hate you, question your judgement yes, but hate? No, nothing of the sort. Even if this had been a surprise"._

_"You knew?" It made sense really, but having it confirmed was still a shock._

_"Knew? Perhaps not. But suspected - yes, I did. You aren't as discrete as you would believe. At least, not to me. Not to someone who has no occupation but to observe others". Jaime nodded in defeat,_

_"How long?" Tyrion looked thoughtful for a few seconds,_

_"I’ve had an inkling for years. But I've only seriously believed it was true for maybe the past year. Since I've known what it is to love a woman. Makes it easier to see it in others"._

_"I do love her Tyrion. She's my whole world". It was a pitiful and pleading statement, and he hated himself for saying it, but to let it out to another person outside the two of them was blissfully freeing,_

_"I’m certain she is. You'd hardly risk both your lives and those of your children otherwise. Gods know why because she doesn't deserve it for a second. But then love knows no rationality". Tyrion's acceptance, even a begrudging one, meant the world to him,_

_"I trust you with my life brother - I would never dream of admitting this if I didn't - but she can't know I've told you". Tyrion frowned,_

_"It's a terrible thing, brother, to be afraid of the woman you love.” The challenging look was back, for just long enough to make Jaime squirm, before Tyrion snapped back to a lighter mood,_

_"More wine - another toast," he sloshed wine into Jaime's goblet then his, spilling a large portion on the table, "Our niece"._

_He looked pointedly at Jaime who took the hint and raised his glass high,_

_"Our niece"._


	8. You Don't Have to be So Brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song for this Chapter is 'Brave' by The Shires
> 
> "Let go, let yourself be free  
> Talk to me, tell me what's wrong now  
> It's not the first time, I've seen you cry  
> You don't have to be so brave tonight"

The clang of metal on metal rang out across Winterfell's courtyard. Brienne reeled backwards as Podrick swung his blade, grazing across her breastplate - the tip of his sword mere inches from her face. As soon as it had fully passed she shifted her weight forward, hard, and used the momentum to forge her own heavy blow which connected with his blade. He slipped his sword around hers to free it, and they both took a step back, preparing to engage again.

She dodged to the right to avoid his swift thrust as he danced towards her - she brought her own quick stroke singing at his knees. She'd expected it would make contact, as he had no time to change direction and evade the blow, but he jumped, clearing the blade in lithe fashion. Her surprise, and pride, caught her off guard and she barely managed to duck the blow he aimed at her head. 

The sudden need to evade caught her somewhat off balance, and she swayed to the side, forced to grasp a saddle stand at the edge of the courtyard with her free hand to steady herself. She held up her sword arm to defend against any further strike as she called out,

"Yield!" The look on Podrick's face was momentarily dumbfounded as he realised he'd bested her for the first time. Brienne had little time to acknowledge his victory, however, as her brief loss of balance was followed by a wave of dizziness that forced her to her knees. Sword discarded she braced both arms against the saddle stand as she fought to regain her breath. He was at her side in a second,

"My Lady, Ser, are you quite all right?" She tried to push herself up but found even raising her head impossible for fear of the edge of nausea that hit her rising in her throat. She swallowed thickly before responding,

"Yes Pod, I'll be fine in a minute", she said, in a voice that didn't even convince _her_ she was fine, let alone anyone else," I thought I was fully recovered from the battle, but apparently I'm experiencing some sort of relapse."

Samwell had warned her after the heavy blow she'd taken to the face in the fight with the dead that she'd likely take some time to fully recover - head injuries could be tricky things, he'd advised her. Tricky indeed, she thought, she'd been feeling fine for several weeks now, and training every day.

Perhaps today though, they had gone a little harder at the sparring than on previous mornings - Pod was challenging her more and more each day, and she'd been needing to put an increasing amount of effort into besting him. She'd come out feeling really up for the fight today, but in spite of giving her all he'd still beaten her.

She recovered her wits enough then, to realise how her quick insistence she was still injured may have hurt him. Had he interpreted her quick explanation as belief that he couldn't beat her otherwise? That couldn't be further from the truth - he'd been getting closer and closer to it even before she took her blow to the head.

"Pod you did well - your footwork has really come on." She managed to turn her head long enough to regard him with what she hoped was a look of pleasure - difficult, but he smiled back so she'd clearly had some measure of success.

Pod hooked his hands beneath her armpits in an attempt to help her to her feet - she tried to push herself up, but another wave of dizziness hit her and she sank back to her knees, a large portion of her weight resting against her squire. He braced himself to support her, as she attempted to ignore the snowmelt soaking into her trousers.

"That's it Ser, you take it easy". He tried to hide the awkwardness at their close contact from his voice behind his genuine affection, but he failed. It irked her briefly - if she'd been a man he wouldn't have given it a second thought - but she acknowledged she'd probably feel the same if she was well enough to care, although thankfully the nausea was starting to ease a little.

Despite his discomfort, Pod eased her weight further back into his lap, her head resting against his chest. It was a strange feeling - he wasn't Jaime, his two real hands around her shoulders were not Jaime's, he didn't smell like Jaime or send her stomach into knots like Jaime - but he evoked memories of her love so strong it was as if he was really here. 

She was dragged back to that long night when they'd fought wave after wave of living corpses, pouring over them like water, pressed back to back with Jaime close in against the castle wall. They'd both taken plenty of hits, but remained standing until the heavy one that was still causing her head to spin. She'd fallen back on him in much this fashion, his arms wrapping around her as the endless tide of dead threatened to swamp them. 

He'd bundled her back to her feet and they fought on, but it had been a moment of stillness, an island in the centre of the peril. The memory was bittersweet, like every thought of him now, but it had stuck with her - that first feel of his embrace. Later that night of course, she'd been in his arms for real, but as much as she'd relived that night over and over in the past weeks, the memory that forced its way into her consciousness now was not of his appearance at her door after the battle.

For although that was the first time they'd lain together, and expressed the feelings that had been building between them for years, it was not the first time he'd sought her out in the night...

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

_The night was as clear as a bell, and despite the lateness of the hour it was surprising how much light there was in the sky. The moon was hidden from Brienne's view behind the line of trees that flanked the camp she and Podrick had made by the riverbank, but she could tell it must be almost full. The light was not enough, however, to block out the blanket of stars that spread out above her._

_She couldn't help but look up in wonder from her position on watch - breath making clouds in the frosty air. Laid over the beauty she saw there was another image - of Jaime standing on Riverrun's battlements, hand raised in farewell. She wished she'd been close enough to read his expression, but she didn't really need that to know he'd felt what passed between them in that moment as well as she had. She mourned for a moment that she didn't know when, or if, they would meet again._

_Her reverie drew her attention from her guard duty such that she failed to notice the shadowy figure sneaking up on the camp until it was almost on top of her. The second she saw it, she stood and drew her sword in one fluid motion,_

_"Who goes there!?" A familiar soft chuckle reached her ears from the darkness,_

_"Who'd have thought I could take you by surprise? You're normally so very diligent in your duties. But it has turned out to be a truly beautiful night I grant you. Shame this world gives us so little opportunity to enjoy such simple pleasures". Jaime moved into the firelight, head tilted to one side as he approached,_

_"What did the guards have to say when you left the castle for a night-time stroll?" It was only one of a hundred questions she wanted to ask him, but she was too afraid of most of the others to voice them._

_"Nothing - I snuck out." She could see enough of his face now to catch the rather self-satisfied expression._

_"How did you get out without anyone seeing you!?" She tried to keep the surprise out of her voice – he was already pleased enough at catching her unawares without giving him further reason to be smug._

_"The same way you did. Took a boat – it’s moored not far back down the bank. I knew you'd camp only a short way up river - you couldn't have gone much further without fresh horses.” He glanced to the sleeping form of Podrick a short stride from the fire, "Will we disturb him?" Brienne shook her head,_

_"Once he's out only a stampede will wake him". She felt herself frowning as she regarded him, waiting for an explanation for his bizarre appearance here, but he was clearly waiting on her to say more. She gave in, despite the fear gnawing at her gut,_

_“Jaime why are you here?" His face remained impassive, but he paused a little too long before replying. Surely he'd have come up with any excuse on the way here if he wasn't going to tell her the truth. But then many of his past actions showed he often acted first and engaged his brain later. Finally, he formulated a response,_

_"I came to tell you that you were right. There was no need for bloodshed. At least we managed to save some lives in this war." He smiled, the fire outlining his lips and she fought the crack in her voice as she replied,_

_"We? You were the only one who saved bloodshed today. I could do nothing to persuade the Blackfish. You weren't joking when you said he was stubborn". His smile broadened,_

_"A little stubbornness can be a great asset. I've heard even a Lannister can be persuaded by a well thought out plan delivered with vehemence". She softened her expression enough to let him know she both recognised and appreciated the compliment,_

_"It may have been my plan but you had far more success than I did in carrying it out." she paused a moment to recall the face of the man whose pride had meant so much to him it had ended his life. She wasn't sure whether to admire him or pity him._

_"What did you say to Edmure to persuade him to surrender the castle?” I'd be fascinated to know what you did differently to succeed where I failed." It was one of the safer of her remaining questions,_

_"I appealed to his better nature". It was a simple but loaded reply, one that begged further questions but also set her mind whirling. She had a horrible feeling it involved violence, but her curiosity was soon sated when he continued,_

_"I tied him to a pole and threatened his family. Seems to have worked on most men over the years"._

_"Jaime!!" She acted shocked, but she wasn't if she was truly honest,_

_"Surely the objective was achieved and therefore the ends justify the means". He was right of course, but she didn't like anything sullying the noble knight image of him she'd fooled herself into inventing. She knew him capable of terrible things, had always known, and she loved him in spite of that. But putting him on a pedestal could only lead to heartbreak and besides, they hadn't gotten to the root of why he was here yet._

_"Within reason". She tried to keep her reply light, but couldn't help following up with a question that burned in her mind,_

_"How would you react to your family being threatened?" She already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it nonetheless. He didn't disappoint her,_

_"Violently". He hung his head as if he realised she'd led him into a trap, "not that it achieved anything most of the time other than bringing more threat down upon us"._

_There was an exposed softness about him she hadn't seen before - a new vulnerability. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him vulnerable of course, but there was something raw here, a new pain that hadn't been dulled by years of taunting. An open wound, and one that she couldn't help but wonder was the reason he'd sought her out. Despite her fear of the question and everything it might mean, she reached out to him,_

_"Are you going to tell me why you're really here? You didn't come all the way out here in the middle of the night just to tell me I was right". His head was gently bowed forward, hair falling over his eyes, and she leaned forward a touch in an attempt to catch his eye. He evaded her gaze for a few moments before his eyes flicked upwards. To her shock, she caught a glisten of tears in the firelight before he turned his head. Staring off into the darkness he replied,_

_"We didn't get a chance to talk. It's been a long time". When he met her eyes again, he'd blinked the tears away and she was forced to wonder if she'd imagined them,_

_"We talked, a little" she paused before continuing, knowing her next question would get right to the root of things, "was there something specific you wanted to talk about?" She was surprised by the speed of his response - for once he was done playing games,_

_"Would I have rowed an hour upstream in the freezing cold if there wasn't?" The statement was almost demanding, and she wasn't sure for a moment how to respond other than with 'well what is it then'. She searched herself for something softer,_

_"Whatever it is, you can always talk to me Jaime – you know that. Otherwise you wouldn't have rowed an hour upstream in the freezing cold". It had the desired effect - he smiled a little, with just a hint of that familiar chuckle. She tried not to stare at him, turning her attention to stoking the fire in an attempt to give him the space to speak,_

_"My daughter…” he almost choked on the word, "I went to Dorne. To bring her home - a threat was sent to Cersei. Myrcella was in danger and Cersei sent me to save her. And I failed". Brienne sneaked a look at him, but his head was down, elbows braced against his knees with his fists balled. She'd heard, of course, about the Princess' death, and her thoughts had turned to Jaime._

_"They poisoned her. We'd got her on the boat home, I thought she was safe." Brienne didn't really know what to say, so she reached out a hand and rested it on his knee, giving a gentle squeeze. He looked up, placing a hand over hers._

_"I was going to tell her. That I was her father - I was going to tell her but she already knew. Said she was glad. I couldn't believe it. I’ve never felt anything like that - I held my daughter and for five wonderful seconds I was a father - a real father - and then she was gone. She died in my arms." He didn't try to hide the tears now as they streamed down his cheeks. Brienne stood and moved to his side, cradling his head as he wept into her jerkin._


	9. Bad Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song for this Chapter is "Bad Things" by Lizzy Land
> 
> "I don't want to go, go away  
> But my heart is lost  
> My love, could you be the one  
> To save me, my mind is lost
> 
> This kind of love makes me do bad things  
> Can't give it up  
> It's just too good to leave  
> This kind of love, is controlling me  
> This kind of love makes me do bad, bad things"

_Jaime walked into the courtyard as the first few flakes of morning snow were beginning to fall. Some days the snow was so thick and the clouds so white and heavy it felt like Winterfell was the only place in the entire world. That and the presence of an extraordinary woman, larger than life, who had captivated him._

_He pulled up sharp when he saw that very person, deep in hushed conversation with Sansa - it was clear the younger woman had just been handed a note, and the realisation made Jaime suddenly aware of the biting cold. Pulling his cloak around him he made to follow the two women as they turned away._

_He hung back, observing, trying to discern the tone of their conversation and whether it indicated that the note brought news from Kings Landing. News that he couldn't help but desperately hope for despite that rational part of him that just didn't want to know. The rational part which continued to pray that if he distanced himself from those events he could pretend none of it was happening. Pretend that this happy life and future he was building with Brienne could last - could be something he was worthy of._

_Like it had so many times in the past, his mind tried to distract him from his spiralling train of thought - he was struck with appreciation of Brienne figure as he walked behind her. He still held shame as to his initial reaction to her, but over time he'd really come to appreciate her stature. Her strength and prowess were qualities he'd gradually come to find sexy - under the armour she was still very much a woman._

_The musculature of her limbs, her lithe frame and her firm, tight ass only served as enhancements to her sensual curves and soft, milk white skin. He found his eyes following the line of her back along those very curves as he ran his tongue over dry lips, cracked from the cold._

_He lost sight of them as they ducked through an archway and the spell was broken - he felt another wave of shame at the shallow attempt to distract himself. His old defence mechanism built on the use of arrogance, dismissiveness and levity to conceal his true feelings had led to numerous people assuming he didn't care, and he'd regretted that many times. Because he did care - he cared very deeply._

_He followed into a quieter area of the courtyard, thoughts fixed back on the contents of the letter. For good or ill he had to know the news it bore, so when the women glanced over at him he couldn't help but move forward and ask,  
"What happened?"_

_After looking to Sansa for leave, Brienne gave a brief summary, resignation in her voice, but he found himself unable to register the details. That did not, however, prevent the report from doing exactly what he'd feared, which was to make events in Kings Landing all too real - his mind setting itself to playing out all manner of horrifying scenarios, each one resulting in the death of Cersei and their child. It was the comment from Sansa though that really twisted the knife in his heart._

_"I always wanted to be there when they executed your sister. Seems like I won't get the chance"._

_He felt his defences begin to crumble. He hadn't been there when The Wall fell to the ice dragon, hadn't even seen it whilst it still stood, but he'd heard the stories from The Watch and the Wildlings. The image he had in his mind couldn't have been a better one to describe how he felt in that moment, as everything he'd built to protect himself from reality came crashing down._

_He couldn't even bear to make eye contact with Brienne - turning he walked away in the opposite direction to Sansa, mind cascading with images of Cersei in pain and terror._

^^^^^^^^^

_Jaime woke in the dead of night, spooned up against Brienne's naked back. They'd made love before falling asleep, like they had every night and every morning since that first time. He'd been sure to snuggle in with his arm beneath her, knowing it would lose feeling, knowing that would wake him in the early hours._

_He was reluctant to remove it now, in spite of his discomfort - he took a few moments to really feel how well they fit together, and not just physically. In so many ways they were the unlikeliest of couples, but on a level deeper than most people saw their souls were connected. There was a fundamental part of who each of them was that was the same, and they slotted into a missing piece of the other. Jaime had never believed in destiny, but this was the closest he'd ever come to feeling it at work._

_It was the strangest sensation - he'd spent his whole life with Cersei as the other half of him, the part he felt lost without. He'd always imagined them as two halves of the same soul, but he felt happier and more content here with Brienne than he ever had with Cersei. He'd always wondered if Cersei felt the same way about him as he did about her, but with Brienne he never questioned._

_Guilt wracked him then - since Sansa's words earlier in the day he'd been increasingly unable to block out what was happening elsewhere. Cersei would likely not survive much longer against Dragon Queen's wrath - how could he abandon her at the time when she needed him the most?_

_He'd sworn a vow to always protect her, shaped his entire life around his dedication to her, and here he was over a thousand miles away in the bed of another woman. Thinking about how happy he was with that other woman and how perfect 'their future together was going to be whilst his twin, his lover, his other half died in fear and pain. That surely made him even more of a monster than any of the terrible things he had done in her name._

_In that moment Jaime Lannister was forced to question who on earth he really was. He'd invented a narrative for himself - allowed Brienne to invent a narrative where he was the shining knight who could save the innocents, but it was all a lie. He was a selfish, cruel man and he brought only pain and destruction to all he touched._

_And now he was faced with an impossible choice - stay and betray Cersei, or leave and betray Brienne. He would break something either way - Brienne was too good, his leaving would crush her - he knew because that part of their souls which was shared told him so, told him she loved him as fiercely as he loved her, told him it would crush him too._

_But whatever glorious future they could have once the war was over could not be built on a foundation where he continued to break vows, where he abandoned Cersei to her fate. He could not live with himself and it would destroy everything they could have been. He would deserve that future happiness even less than his past deeds permitted – he would still be the man who pushed little boys out of windows to protect his own selfish interests._

_That Brienne would be a casualty in this sacrifice, that he'd allowed that to happen, was unforgivable - he should never have taken their relationship this far. Never hidden from the fact that his return to Cersei was an inevitability as much as the sun rising in the East._

_He had been careful not to promise anything to Brienne - a cynical move which must have pointed to this ending on some level. Whether she would see his sharing her bed morning and night for a month as akin to a promise remained to be seen. She deserved so much better and he prayed she would find it._

_He ran a hand down her arm - he shouldn't really, afraid he would wake her, but he couldn't resist one last feel of her perfect skin. She was beautiful - he'd held back from saying it to her - knew the baggage that word carried for her, knew she'd feel mocked even though he knew he could never mock her again, and would forever regret that he had done so._

_He'd long hoped that one day he'd be able to say that word and have her face light up - have her believe she was beautiful to him whatever the rest of the stupid bloody world thought. Then he'd tell her he loved her and ask her the only question he ever cared she'd answer yes to._

_But no. None of that would happen now. He realised in his churning thoughts he'd made the decision, knew whatever other instincts may nag him his mind was made up. Had been made up since the Lady of Winterfell's fateful words - he'd felt it in the fading light of that last day, known in the desperation of their lovemaking it would be the final time even as his heart tried to hold on._

_Wanting to avoid any further agonising which would in any case plague him on his long journey, and in more cowardly fashion, avoid a painful conversation, he extricated himself the glorious tangle of limbs that could have been his salvation._

_Dragging on his clothes and taking a long moment to pause and look back at a blissfully peaceful Brienne, he left the room as quietly as he could and began making preparations to ride south._

^^^^^^^^^

Jaime could feel his strength failing. Even swallowing was becoming too much of an effort. He couldn't have long – he hoped it would be soon and he could escape this endless procession of things he would rather forget. At least he now felt more numb than in pain - maybe the next time he fell asleep he would just peacefully slip away like in the stories. He closed his eyes and immediately Brienne rose, vivid in his thoughts.

He'd tried, TRIED, to keep his mind from her, tried to fix his thoughts on Cersei to cement his decision, but she'd crept gradually into his thoughts in spite of his attempts to keep her out. Ironic really, it mirrored the way she'd crept into his life, into his heart, unbidden - blindsided him and turned his head from the previously unshakeable dedication that had been his whole life until she'd crashed unapologetically into it, casting the broken pieces of his resolve to the four winds.

He’d never imagined he'd look at another woman in his entire life, but this woman had induced him to jump into a bear pit to save her - he'd given her his sword, he'd knighted her, fought under her command and even lost his hand to protect her. Eventually he'd ended up in her bed.

And yet he'd still managed to leave her. Still managed to allow his blind dedication to Cersei to drag him from her side. These long hours, days, however long it had been had shown hum in a way he'd never really seen before the truth of he and Cersei’s relationship. And as much as he loved her, he didn't like what he'd seen. 

Funny how confronting death could give you a measure of objectivity you've previously failed to find. He felt sick. Watching back his life like that made it all seem like some kind of horrible joke and the fact that the woman who had been the puppet master of it was lying dead next to him and denying him the final chance to confront her about his realisation was the biggest joke of them all.

^^^^^^^^

_Jaime's chapped fingers fumbled with the stiff leather of the bridle. He tried to still his shivering from the midnight cold - he hadn't imagined it could get any colder out here but he'd been wrong. He really did hate the fucking North. The only redeeming things within 500 miles of desolate wasteland were a warm bed and a pair of sparkling blue eyes._

_No. He had to focus - Cersei needed him, his beautiful Cersei, his other half. Brienne could take care of herself, but Cersei needed him, was lost and afraid without him. He'd selfishly allowed himself to stray from her side for too long and it was time to return. He hoped she'd be pleased to see him and not too angry at his leaving._

_He finally managed to finish fastening the bridle and turned his attention to the saddle, swinging it into place and beginning work on yet more fiddly straps. He tried not to get frustrated at how difficult it was to complete the task with one hand, saddle flap tucked beneath his chin as he tightened the girth._

_He wasn't sure exactly when he became aware of Brienne’s silent approach across the snow, but he focussed even more intently on the task at hand whilst his gut churned in anticipation of her words. She was wrapped in a nightgown, arms folded about her - she looked cold and it took everything he had not to cease what he was doing and take her in his arms,_

_"They're going to destroy that city. You know they will." Her voice was flat but she did a poor job of keeping the emotion out of it - if she was even trying.. He kept his gaze fixed forward, but the shaking in his arms was now not solely from the cold. If he looked at her, he knew he would crack and he couldn't do that. Couldn't fail Cersei in the final act._

_He realised in that moment how final it actually felt - and it rocked him to his core. He fell back on his old habits - defiance in the face of certain defeat. It had gotten him this far,_

_"Have you ever run away from a fight?” The dispassion in his voice was false, so not what he wanted or needed to say to her, but he had to get away. He'd tried to avoid this conversation - the first fight he really HAD tried to run away from, because he knew he would lose. His heart pounded in his chest._

_He had no idea what she was going to say or do next, but he didn't expect her to rush over to him and take his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. He saw then how this was going to go, her carefully crafted defences shattered, the raw emotion of her heart laid bare across her face. She always appeared so strong, but here was the fragility he knew she concealed - which he'd felt there because it was something he shared - and the idea he'd opened this wound in her all but broke him._

_"You’re not like your sister. You're not. You're better than she is. You're a good man and you can't save her. You don't need to die with her. Stay here. Stay with me." Her voice started to crack, the tears to well in her eyes and she managed only two further words, "Please. Stay"._

_Jaime couldn't keep looking at her, couldn't witness yet more pain he had caused. Seeing it there brought home every cruel, heartless thing he'd ever done and he couldn't understand how she could call him a good man whilst her heart was breaking before him. How could he have deceived her so completely? What he said next had to make certain she would not follow him, not think of him in that way again._

_"You think I’m a good man", he met her eyes once more – finding an intensity that frightened him," I pushed a boy out of a tower window, crippled him for life, for Cersei. I strangled my cousin with my own hands, just to get back to Cersei. I would have murdered every man, woman and child in Riverrun - for Cersei. She's hateful. And so am I."_

_Hearing her break down as he mounted the horse and rode away severed the last few frayed threads of self-respect he still possessed. His tears mirrored hers - vision blurred he turned the horse South, towards dawn and whatever fate had in store._

_And even if that was agonising death, it would be less than he deserved._


	10. I Gave My Heart Whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song for this Chapter is Faith’s Song by Amy Wadge
> 
> “Gave you all that you needed  
> You cut but I’m bleeding  
> All of my strength, I give to you  
> I loved completely  
> You lose then you leave me  
> And all of my hope  
> Left with you too
> 
> But I gave my heart whole I did  
> I gave my heart  
> And although it’s lost  
> It is still beating  
> And I gave my whole soul I did  
> I gave my soul  
> And although I’m broken  
> I am still breathing”

_Brienne woke bleary eyed. It was dark but the room was still dimly lit from the fire. She realised instantly that she was alone in the bed and sat up, searching the room in momentary confusion. It was empty. Fear knotted her stomach, but it was fear which comes when the thing you've been most dreading comes to pass, rather than from shock. Her instincts had been right - she'd known from the look in Jaime's eyes that afternoon, knew him too well to doubt his thoughts._

_A part of her wanted to shake Sansa from her bed, scream and curse at her for the words that had set him down this path. But in reality she had only one person to blame and it wasn't the woman she was sworn to protect. It wasn't even Jaime - she knew the hold Cersei had over him even after all this time and over this distance. He was a slave to his sister’s whims and the love they'd shared these past weeks could do nothing to change that._

_Her heart was already racing, but its pace seemed to double when she heard hooves strike the cobbles below. He hadn't left yet. She ran to the window, naked and unheeding of the cold, and there he was, leading a horse into the courtyard. She grabbed the first item of clothing she could find - a dressing robe - and pulled it on as she left the room, bolting for the stairs in her frenzy to get to him._

_"You love him". She had no idea why Cersei's words of years before came back to her now, taunting. She'd realised it before even Brienne herself - the memory of heat flooding to her face at Cersei's declaration was one of mixed emotion. She’d felt a fool - Cersei's face curled in a sneer, but there was also pleasure in the recollection. She’d known instantly that the other woman spoke the truth and wondered why she hadn't seen it for herself. Back then she'd never imagined a day would come when he’d look at her twice, let alone grow to return her affections. In many ways she still felt as if she'd been living in a dream these past weeks - and like a dream, it appeared it had to end._

_She reached the foot of the stairs, wondering that she hadn't stumbled in her headlong dash, but then she paused before the virgin snow that stretched out towards him. She felt a sudden awkwardness - he'd clearly intended to leave without her knowing and she had no idea how he'd react to being confronted. Then she felt absurd – this man was the love of her life and nothing was going to prevent her fighting for him. Steeling herself she made her way slowly across the yard._

_She could feel his tension as she approached, didn't really know how to make that approach, but as futile as this felt she had to try. She suddenly felt very small - the part of her that still believed there were some magic words that could change his mind shrank beneath the weight of her self-doubt. Cersei's incredulity had been more than justified - how could she ever have thought she was worthy of this man?_

_She began with words of caution, appealing to his sense of self-preservation but she quickly saw he was blind to it, and her resolve failed her. She didn't care in the moment, but to her later shame she resorted to begging him to stay, all self control abandoned in her anguish. But it was to no avail - she sank to her knees as he rode away, the pain of snow against bare flesh a mirror to the pain in her heart.  
She had no idea how long she remained there, hunched over in the biting cold, uncaring who heard her uncontrollable sobbing if indeed anyone was awake to hear. Eventually she gathered herself and, wiping her face with the loose sleeve of her robe, turned back towards the tower. She felt numb, her feet dragging in the heavy snow in her reluctance to move; moving meant figuring out what came next and she wasn’t ready for that yet._

_She started when she saw a dark shape appearing to watch her from the shadow of the castle wall. She tried to dismiss it as just her imagination but was startled again when the shape spoke,_

_“I hope you don't think I'm prying, but something told me I had to witness this. With my own eyes that is, not through anyone else's.” Bran spoke in his usual flat tone and his impassivity brought her down to earth enough to respond,_

_“I doubt my embarrassing myself is worthy of historical note, but you know best”. She made to move past him, not wishing to prolong their awkward exchange. He spoke again,_

_"You did nothing you should be embarrassed about. Love makes people do all manner of strange and inadvisable things - I have seen far worse. Indeed I have been victim to far worse". She was already freezing cold, out there in middle of the night in just a robe, but the words killed what little warmth remained in her heart. They truly brought home to her for the first time that Jaime was the reason he was sitting in that chair._

_"I really do love him". She didn't know what induced her to say it, to declare her love aloud for the first time, to this person and under these circumstances. But it felt important that she did._

_"I don't doubt it. Nor should you doubt that he loves you in spite of his actions". It was hard to hear; odd to be consoled as to Jaime's feelings when he was right that second galloping south, back into the arms of the woman who had been the source of all evil in his life. The woman he had chosen over her._

_"If he really loved me, he wouldn't have left". She knew, even as she spoke, it wasn’t that simple. Nothing was ever that simple, least of all Jaime._

_"He wouldn't have left if he'd truly been able to make that choice for himself." Bran had been half looking at her, or rather looking through her, eyes fixed in the middle distance - now his gaze snapped to her face,_

_"The bird that is raised in a cage knows only the cage. You can set it free a thousand times but it will always return. The cage must be broken before the bird can fly"._

_Every hair on Brienne's body stood on end, a shiver travelling the length of her spine. What Bran had said felt so much more profound than mere words and she took long moments to digest it. In spite of her pain, she felt sure deep within her that she had no choice but to let Jaime go, sending prayers after him that he would find a way to fly._

^^^^^^^^^^^

Brienne had been staring at her breakfast for ten minutes, pushing food around her plate but not eating anything. Samwell had not been overly concerned about her health when she'd visited him after being taken ill the week before, but she still felt occasionally nauseous and had woken this morning with no appetite.

She pushed the still full plate away and made her way out into the yard to watch Pod’s sparring session with one of the household guard. She was tired, tireder than she'd felt in a long time, with thoughts of Jaime keeping her awake at night, and Jaime haunting her dreams when she did sleep. Sometimes the dreams were pleasant and sometimes they weren't, but it made little difference to how bereft she felt when she awoke.

Her mind had chosen this past night to make her relive his leaving for the hundredth time, forcing her to question over and over what she could have said or done differently to make him stay. Bran's words came back to her again, and with them that strange feeling, a cold shiver down her back that made them hum with significance. She was certain she'd had that feeling before, somewhere in the past she couldn't recall and it needled at her. Maybe her mind didn’t keep bringing her back to that night solely to torture her.

She shook off the feeling. Pod was trouncing the poor soldier despite her requesting the best recruit available. She did note however, that he used a few dirty moves he definitely hadn't learned from her - she made a mental note to grill him about it. She also noted the group of young ladies who'd gathered to watch - his reputation certainly seemed to have gained him a fan club. She smiled - she hoped he would find someone to be happy with, in time. He really was getting a little old to be a squire after all.

There was a commotion across the yard. It appeared a raven had just arrived - a number of people were pointing up towards the tower. Brienne felt as if her blood turned cold. It had been some days since the last news from the South and she'd been floating around in a daze trying not to think about where Jaime was and what he was doing. There'd been no news of him in any of the previous letters and she secretly hoped he hadn’t made it there in time. 

The last raven had indicated Daenerys and Jon were ready to attack Kings Landing and so the only logical conclusion was this bird carried news of the outcome. She had never been one to run from any situation, but she got the urge to run now so strongly her knees almost gave way with the effort to remain where she was. She fixed her eyes on the tower door, waiting for the message to be brought down and presented to Sansa.

Time seemed to slow almost to a stop as the door remained stubbornly closed. Brienne began to see spots in front of her eyes she was staring so intently, when her gaze was drawn by a figure walking past the tower and away from her across the courtyard - from the back he could have been Jaime. His hair was the same dirty blond and his gait was so similar - she held her breath waiting for him to turn into the stable entrance. He did, and of course it wasn't but for those few short seconds that had stretched out like eons she'd convinced herself to believe it.

Her head suddenly snapped back around. How could she have allowed herself to be distracted by a stupid fantasy? Then again, perhaps everything that had happened in the past two months had been a stupid fantasy. She took a deep breath. The endless negative thought spirals she become trapped in multiple times a day were exhausting.

She'd clearly missed the message being carried out, as the throng of people eager for news had moved over towards the Great Hall and, making her way in that direction, she could hear voices from inside. She knew her position in the household would allow her to enter, but she was reluctant – faced with the truth mere feet away the urge to run rose in her again. 

Part of her hated herself for what Jaime could do to her, even when all she did was think of him and he was hundreds of miles away. She still didn’t regret any of it for a moment, but it was moments like this that made her realise how much he'd changed her. She had thought she’d changed him too, for the better, and she couldn’t bring herself to believe she was wrong.

The sound of the door opening startled her. Sansa exited first, the wide eyed look on her face mirroring Brienne’s own anxiety.

"Ah, Ser Brienne, walk with me." She was breathless, her face flushed, and Brienne knew whatever the news was, it couldn't be good.

"My Lady, you look quite unwell". She resisted asking directly as to what the letter contained. Sansa took a big breath, pausing at the top of her inhalation to gather herself before letting it out in one sharp sigh.

“I don’t know why I feel the need to present a face for you Brienne,” The familiarity was not lost on the taller woman and she was gratified by it, "you've seen me at my worst enough times. It's just where to start".

Brienne took her arm and guided Sansa through an archway to where they could sit, undisturbed. She prayed her own countenance, and health, would hold long enough to guide her Lady to somewhere more private. She could barely contain her own need, but she managed it for Sansa's sake, the moment she swore her oath to Catelyn looming large in her mind. Seated, Sansa finally spoke again,

"Daenerys took her remaining dragon and destroyed King's Landing". Brienne swallowed the lump in her throat as she kept her attention fixed on Sansa's words, not her own racing mind,

"Tyrion renounced her immediately and was thrown in the cells and Jon... " Brienne's heart almost seemed to pause in her chest waiting for the end of the sentence as Sansa’s breath caught in her throat,

"Jon killed her. He stabbed her in the heart." Everything froze. Ice from the ground seemed to spread up Brienne's legs and pool in her belly. She barely even dared breathe in case she might shatter. She could feel the fear and worry rolling off Sansa.

"And... where is Jon now?" She feared the response, but she couldn't allow the impossible tension to continue.

"They've locked him up too. We've been called South along with the other leaders of the Great Houses to determine what happens next". 

"And what does happen next?"

"I have no idea. But we must leave for White Harbour at dawn." Sansa stood, suddenly, "I have to make preparations." She turned to leave, but Brienne couldn't prevent herself from finally blurting out the question that had been burning through her since the raven arrived,

"What about Jaime?” She felt selfish, stupid, but as Sansa turned back to answer she could see a whole world of understanding in the young woman’s eyes,

“No word. I’m sorry." And with that she walked away. So they were finally heading south, and Brienne couldn't hide from the world, or the truth, inside these walls any more. Part of her welcomed it, an end to this interminable waiting. The rest of her, which had never been able see anything inside Winterfell's walls but Jaime, felt that leaving here would mean breaking what ever spell had allowed their love to be real.

That odd feeling of magic at work was upon her again, but this time it transported her back a few years to a moment far north of here, and she finally remembered when she’d had that ethereal feeling before.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

_The fire blazed in the hearth. Brienne sat before it alone nursing a mug of tea. She'd sought out the solitude - the journey to Castle Black had been a long one, and Sansa was much engaged catching up with her brother after a tearful reunion. She didn't like to think too much about what the poor girl had been through, and even less what she could have done differently to prevent it._

_Still, she was safe now - she would bear the scars of the past few years but then, to a greater or lesser degree, so would they all. And so, Brienne took this moment of pause, of quiet reflection. Life had rarely allowed for such indulgences in the recent past, and a warm fireside with no worries about wolves or bandits felt like a great blessing. In a few days, her wanderer spirit would probably be yearning for the next grand adventure, but for now she was content._

_She allowed herself to be mesmerised by the flames, her thoughts drifting for a time until they began to settle on a favourite daydream. The longer she sat there, the clearer a face formed in the flames, a handsome face - one she hadn't seen in a couple of years now, but which she hadn't forgotten. She'd probably never see him again, but that didn't stop her thinking of him in idle moments. - dwelling on the time they'd spent together. Time which would be forever precious to her._

_She'd become so engrossed she hadn't noticed someone else enter the room, but a noise at the door jolted her from her reverie and she turned to see who was interrupting her peace. The last person she wished to see was making their way across the room, red hair aflame in the light of the fire. She regarded Brienne with a quizzical expression. The blonde woman bristled – wanting to make clear, if there was any chance she wasn't already aware from their earlier altercation, that Melisandre was unwelcome._

_"What are you doing here?" Brienne braced one hand against her knee, the other reaching for the hilt of her sword. The witch seemed unperturbed,_

_"The Lord of Light guided me here.” She seated herself on the other side of the fireplace._

_"I am not interested in your corrupt god, or his whims". Brienne struggled not to rise to her – in fact the only thing preventing her from running her sword through the witch where she sat was respect for the brothers of the Night's Watch and their hospitality._

_"That is a shame – he's rather interested in you". Brienne didn’t have the patience for this._

_"How absurd. What possible interest could he have in me?" The question was supposed to be dismissive, but Melisandre either took it for curiosity or else didn’t care to be dissuaded._

_"He senses your power – indeed I sensed it the moment you first approached me.” Brienne snorted,_

_"It's the armour and the sword that give it away,” she said mockingly._

_"You think you know yourself so well. But your mind is closed to anything other than what is right before you".  
"I’m not in the habit of taking advice from witches – especially not a witch who killed my king"._

_"And you killed mine. So now we are even Brienne of Tarth.”_

_Brienne was forced to pause for a moment, surprised into silence by the witch's response. It gave her the chance to speak again,_

_"But of course you aren't open to new horizons. Your mind is full of the Kingslayer."_

_Brienne felt suddenly cold. She knew from whatever dark spirit she'd seen kill Renly that the witch's magic was real, but how could she possibly know what was in Brienne’s heart?_

_"His name's Jaime." She surprised herself with the defiance she put into the words – but who else knew enough of the truth of his past to defend him if not her._

_"You're in love with him." Shed been accused of this before, although this time it was less of an accusation – and less of a revelation._

_"What’s it to you?" She wondered why she hadn't just denied it, but then it seemed pointless to lie to one who seemed able to see all. Besides, her love for Jaime was a beacon of light in a dark world and she refused to hide it away._

_"He's a weak and broken man but you're stronger than you could possibly know. Strong enough for both of you. He will need you before this is all over"._

_Brienne could barely take in all of her words. The only thing she fixated upon was that if what the witch said was true, she would see Jaime again one day. And no matter what happened from here on, that was something to hold on to._

^^^^^^^^^^^^

Brienne had few possessions – years living on the road did not allow for a materialistic lifestyle. But what little she did own she had packed into a small crate ready to load onto the wagon train bound for the harbour. All, that was, aside from the things she would carry – the most important of which was Oathkeeper.

She took a long moment to run her fingers down the length of the blade and over the hilt before pushing the sword into it’s sheath at her hip.

_“It’s yours. It’ll always be yours”._

Jamie’s words meant so much to her, and she wondered if their exchanges had stayed with him in the same way. If they meant the same to him. She also wondered if he knew that in exchange for the sword and the faith he’d bestowed on her, she’d given him her heart. And no matter what they found when they got to Kings Landing, whatever he had done or whatever fate had befallen him, that heart would always be his.


	11. Suffocating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is “Suffocating” by Alyssa Reid
> 
> “Into the dark, afraid of the light  
> I lost myself like I lost my mind  
> You crossed your heart and you crossed the line  
> You're out of love and we're out of time
> 
> You said "Stay with me forever  
> I know we'll always be together"  
> Now I'll never make it out
> 
> You were mine, now you're gone  
> And you don't even care  
> I was blind, I was wrong  
> Now I'm fighting for air  
> Slowly fading, suffocating”

Jaime felt himself floating on a cushion of air. He couldn't be sure if he was alive or dead, but he felt strangely at peace, albeit a fragile peace on which the assault of painful memories continued to intrude.

Where before he'd fixed his focus on Cersei and tried to block out Brienne, he could now only find solace in thoughts of his fellow knight and he battled to shut his sister from his mind. Any thought of Cersei made his profound sense of calm vanish completely. Knowing he could not confront her about his realisations was excruciating. He'd finally found himself free of her, and the fact that it was because she was gone and not because he'd chosen it ate away at him. That she'd controlled him so completely he was unable to make that choice was something it was going to take time for him to learn to accept - if indeed he lived long enough for that to be a consideration.

Brienne had tried to tell him, he saw that now. She’d slowly tried to persuade him he could be different, showed him he *was* different from the way Cersei made him. He cursed himself that he had not been strong enough to break away from her on his own. She had always brought out the absolute worst in him, whereas Brienne had trusted him, encouraged him, shown him he could be more. She made him into a better version of himself.

He felt a desperation for her so strong it almost made him weep. He did not deserve to have her take him back but if there was any chance of him getting out of this he intended to do everything in his power to cherish her for the rest of their days, no matter what she would allow him to be to her. He would swear himself to her in servitude if that's what it took and he would never presume they could be anything more. Just her allowing him to be near her after what he'd done would be enough.

“It's yours. It'll always be yours.” He’d seen in the sapphire pools of her eyes what his words had meant to her, and he hoped she knew what they meant to him. Because, even though he didn’t know it at the time, he hadn't just been talking about the sword. 

He knew now, the love he shared with Brienne had been the only real love he'd ever experienced. What he'd felt for Cersei had been infatuation, a false superficial love born out of abuse and co-dependency. And unlike his love for Brienne it had never been freely given. 

Of course, as he had said many times in his life to many people, you cannot choose who you love, but he knew if he could he would have chosen to love Brienne. Cersei forced him to love her by making him reliant on her, by doing her damnedest to chase away every other support he might have in his life until he couldn't function without her. Until his sense of self was wholly compromised. 

His heart had never truly been Cersei's, just as the spirit of one imprisoned could never truly belong to their jailer. It would always belong to Brienne, sweet, loyal, beautiful too bloody good for this world Brienne. She was, and always would be, the love of his life and the very embodiment of everything he had ever aspired to be. He had many things to regret in his life, but the greatest of all would be never getting to tell her how he felt and leaving her crying in the snow believing he didn’t love her enough to stay.

He felt sure in his heart that he wasn’t getting out of this alive. Cersei’s final and most complete act of control over him was to have him die with her, and as much as he still and always would love her, he hated her for it. More so, the fact that he still loved her after everything made him hate her all the more, and despise himself.

“You poor fool. She’ll be the end of you’. How right Olenna had been – he’d been a blind man in a sighted world all his life and everyone else had been able to see it but him. And now here he was, caught in a trap of his own making, complicit in his own destruction. 

He had to admit there was a sick poetry to it all – they’d come into the world together and they would leave it together. He’d never get to be his own person, never get to find out who he was without her. But then, maybe that was a good thing, maybe he was never meant to exist without Cersei, and maybe the answer to that question was no-one. He’d never know now. He was ready for it all to be over.

Just as Jaime felt himself starting to give up, beginning to give in to the darkness that pushed at the edges of his consciousness, the floating feeling lessened and his body grew heavy. The perpetual night he’d been trapped in became lighter, gradually like the sunrise. The crushing weight lifted off him and he was suddenly standing in the Red Keep, whole once more with sunlight streaming in through the windows. 

At first he thought he was slipping into another memory, but this felt different somehow. He couldn't be sure if he was still trapped in his mind or he'd been somehow transported back in time, but he could not place this day, this feeling as coming from his past.

He found himself walking, toward the Great Hall. The castle seemed oddly deserted - it was eerie without the usual hustle and bustle of the day's business. When he reached his destination the doors were closed, but with a slight push they opened easily, swinging inward before him.

This room also appeared deserted at first, but then he saw Cersei seated on the throne, legs crossed and arms folded in her lap. But this couldn’t be, Cersei was dead. He was surely still trapped in his own mind, but the fact that she was sitting here when he knew that she was lying dead beside him felt desperately wrong and he couldn’t explain it. 

She regarded him imperiously, and he felt fear clench his stomach. All the time he'd been away from her he'd thought of her almost constantly – sometimes the soft sweet Cersei he yearned for, but other times this angry, judgemental Cersei who he felt compelled to please. Which one he'd visualised as he galloped south switched back and forth with a regularity that should have given him pause.

"There are only two reasons for ever doing anything – one is love, the other is fear". His brother had given up years before trying to persuade him from Cersei’s side, but he’d never stopped with the subtle messages designed to make Jaime contemplate his situation for himself. Tyrion knew Cersei had always had him pegged on both love and fear – but not anymore. Things were about to change. He strode forward, ready to face her, ready to stand up to her in a way he had never before dared. He realised now what this was – the chance to speak his mind that he had always been denied. He had no idea who or what had bestowed this upon him but he sent a silent prayer of thanks.

"Nice of you to finally show up". He could sense the anger rolling off her, and he was unsurprised she’d spoken first. She wanted to start off with the upper hand over him, as she always did, but this time he would not allow it. He took another defiant step forward.

"It's a long way from Winterfell to Kings Landing". He kept his reply short, and without apology. She seemed a little surprised, clearly expecting he’d be more deferent,

"Funny, the dragon bitch and her cronies have been here for weeks. Did you take the long way around? I can't imagine you marched with their armies". He knew Brienne was bound to come up sooner or later, in fact he fully intended to tell Cersei all about her, but for now he held back. He wanted to see what she already knew, what her inevitable spies had fed back to her – it was clear from her tone she knew something and was trying to trap him,

"I had reason to remain in the North for several weeks after the battle. Lady Sansa graciously extended me her hospitality". Her eyebrows raised - she was clearly further surprised by his continued defiance,

"What possible... business”, she emphasised the word, almost spitting it at him, "could you have that would keep you from my side for a moment longer than your ridiculous knight nonsense demanded?"

"Personal business". He put equal emphasis on the first syllable of personal.

"With your whore?" Her eyes bored into him and he stared right back, pleased that he'd forced her into showing her hand.

"She’s not a whore". It seemed rich she'd be so angry with him after all the men who’d shared her bed over the years. He’d always known, turned the blind eye of denial, and remained faithful to her like a fool. The only reason he could fathom for her rage was that Brienne made her feel threatened, and that made him feel stronger than he had in years.

"Don't think I don't know you've been fucking her”. She made it sound so cheap, so dirty, but what he and Brienne had shared had been nothing like that, "I’m amazed you could even get hard for that big, ugly bitch". He moved forward, up the steps of the dais, eyes fixed on hers, and for the first time he saw her shrink back from him, just a little, a shade of nervousness passing across her gaze.

"Don't you dare, ever, speak about her that way. She's ten times the woman you'll ever be". He watched his words sink in, then her mind try to figure out what her next move was. It only took a split second but he could see the thought process there, clear as day. She stood, moving into his personal space, claiming it in that way that had always aroused him before, but now made him want to recoil away. She brought her hands to his face, pressing her body against him.

"I missed you Jaime". No, he wouldn't fall for her trap again. They seemed so obvious to him now, all the ways she manipulated him – she’d been playing him like a fiddle for years and, like a blind, stupid puppy, he'd let her. This time he pushed her away, turning his back as he took a step toward the high window. She moved towards him again, embracing him from behind, making certain her could feel her breasts pressed against his back, hands roaming his chest. He shook her off once more, turning back to face her.

"This isn't going to work on me any more Cersei". He softened his expression – as angry as he was he didn't truly want to hurt her. It was a mistake – sensing a chink of weakness in his armour, she went in for the kill,

"Don't you love me any more?" She was so blatant, shameless, but could also see that there was some genuine hurt feeling behind the question and he recognised the need to tread softly. He tried to be gentle but firm,

“Cersei l'll always love you,” he saw her eyes light with triumph, but as she made back towards him again he raised a hand to stop her in her tracks, “You're my sister and I love you. But I I’m not in love with you. Not any more. I'm in love with Brienne and I’m going to marry her". The final statement surprised even him with it's surety, but as he repeated it in his head a few times he felt a warmth spread through him. He had no idea if she would want him back, or even want to see him again, but the absolute certainty of his own feelings and desires made him feel powerful.

“How could you choose her over me? It's always been us Jaime, since the day we were born. You always told me we're the only two people in the whole world.” She’d begun to plead and he took a deep, calming breath, using it to steel himself against her attempt to sway him.

“I finally found someone of my own to love - someone I can be with openly, build a family with. Any normal sister would be happy for me". He hadn't got as far as talking about the future, about children, with Brienne but he realised he wanted that with her so very dearly – he could only hold on to the hope she would want the same, if by some miracle he made it out of this.

“We had a family, Jaime - we can still have one!” Her hands dropped to her belly and he turned cold. He knew in his heart it was gone, their nameless, faceless fourth child that had not even gotten to live the short life its sister and brothers had. He mourned for them all, more than he'd ever been able to express - except one starry night on a riverbank when Brienne had held him and allowed him the space to bare his soul. How had he not realised he loved her then?

"We can never be a family Cersei, we've been living a lie for years, a poisonous lie, and I let another man father my children whilst you took me in and out of my box whenever it suited you". She looked horrified, but it was not horror at the realisation of what she'd done to him, it was horror that he'd finally worked it out. That he’d finally decided he wasn't going to take it any more.

“I was always there for you Jaime, always took care of you when no one else wanted to know you. When the whole world scorned you and called you names, I was the only one you could turn to. She'll never take care of you like I can”. That was the first piece of real truth to come out of Cersei mouth in this whole conversation. Jaime couldn't help but laugh in her face, knowing how right she was but in such a different way to the one she meant.

“You're absolutely right, she won't take care of me like you. She'll take care of me so much better because she treats me with the respect that I deserve. She truly loves me”. He knew it – knew it as surely as he knew his own name. With Cersei, he'd always wondered exactly what she felt for him, but with Brienne he just knew without ever needing to hear her say the words. And it gave him so much strength.

"Jaime, *I* love you. I love you more than my own breath". And there he saw it, saw enough to chase any doubt from his mind - the years of wondering were over. The lie never reached her eyes, and she finally gave herself away. He'd always feared the answer to that long held question, but now he had it he just felt elated. In spite of all the wasted years, the feeling of freedom was impossibly thrilling.

“You *don't* love me. Not the way I love you. No-one who loves someone could treat them the way you've treated me. You've manipulated me my whole life - belittled me, teased me, hurt me, then comforted me in the next breath. You tried to control me so completely no-one else was able to get through. I never had a chance of having a normal relationship”. He took a breath that was almost a gasp, old habits suddenly kicking in. He felt shocked at what he'd just said to her; at what he'd just had the balls to say to her. She cut in,

"Jaime, you're raving..." He raised his hand before her face, cutting her off in mid-flow. Even years old patterns of behaviour weren’t going to induce him to let her continue.

"No Cersei, you've done enough talking, it's my turn. I’m not going to let you silence me any more - I'm my own person damn it, not just an extension of your ego to dangle on a string whenever I’m convenient to have around or you want another baby. I’m not your bloody plaything". He paused again, but this time he fixed her with a look that dared her to speak and see what he would do. She remained silent – the wisest thing she'd done in years.

“I have wasted my entire life trying to make you happy. I compromised so much of myself doing whatever it look to get your approval, and I’ve finally realised I don't need it anymore. I don't care whether you approve of me or not – I don't give two, wet shits if you like my choice of wife because she gives me everything you took away from me. She encourages me to be myself and she brings out the best in me. And most of all she doesn't make me buy her love and she certainly doesn't try to buy mine." He raised his eyebrows at her, indicating that he was done, wondering what possible comeback she could have to his diatribe.

"Are you finished?" It was a meeker response than he'd expected, but he didn't discount even now a further attempt to manipulate. He knew her final line of defence when she didn't get her own way, and that was to lash out. He braced himself for her rage, which could quickly become physical.

"I’m finished". She stepped towards him again, and this time he allowed it, if only to show he wasn't going to back down from his plainly stated position.

“Good”, she smiled, a dangerous smile, “but Jaime, darling, even you must be smart enough know I’m never going to allow you to leave. No-one just chooses to walk away from Cersei Lannister”.

He shouldn't have been surprised really, shouldn't have been naive enough to hope for her to see the error of her ways, to ever stretch to an apology. Because of course she'd always known exactly what she was doing to him, and done it all with a ruthless, calculated intent. She truly was hateful.

“Cersei, I’m going now. I’m not going to let you threaten me. All you’re doing is proving everything I've just said is absolutely true". He turned to the steps down from the dais, but she caught his arm with her hand, digging her nails into his flesh.

"l’m going to give you one last chance to change your mind before I call for the guards". Jaime wasn't even sure if there were any guards in this strange place, or what they could do to him if there were, but he had the strong feeling that he had to get away from her, whatever the cost. 

He reached to his hip to draw his sword from its scabbard, then realised he wasn't wearing one – he wasn't carrying a weapon of any kind. He glanced around, but there wasn't anything he could even improvise as a weapon. Cersei’s head was already partially turned, ready to shout for help, and he was suddenly struck by her deadly beauty; the pale expanse of her flawless skin. There were tears on her cheeks, long streaks marking their path down her face. He realised at that moment there was only one way this was going to end, and if that was what it took to get back to Brienne, then that’s what he would do.

And then, his hands were at her throat, both hands – his right whole again, real as it had ever been. He didn’t know how it could be possible, but it was clear to him now that fate was at work. Cersei was struggling to breathe, her face growing red as she clawed at his hands. But he could already tell he was too strong for her. She was trying to speak – through her dying gasps she managed to cough out,

“It... s... you. Yo... u're... th... the... Va... lon…quar”. Then she grew limp and her weight collapsed to the floor. The scene quickly began to dissolve before Jamie’s eyes as he looked down at his hands, disbelieving at what he'd just done. He could barely bring himself to process her words and their horrifying meaning – but they told him there was far more to what had just happened than a mere dying hallucination.

He spiralled back into the darkness below the rubble but... as just before this began, it seemed lighter and there was less weight crushing down on him. He almost felt as if there was fresh air on his face. Then he could hear crying. Someone was there – someone had finally found him. He tried to speak, but just breathing was taking all his remaining energy and no sound came out. He couldn’t even open his eyes, but he had to find a way to let whoever it was know he was there; that he was still alive, just. 

The crying seemed to be punctuated by banging – it sounded far away but it definitely seemed as if someone was banging rocks together. It didn’t make any sense to his clouded mind, but he waited for it to stop, mustering every last ounce of strength he had. He breathed in, deep, painful, so painful he believed it could be his last, then he coughed. It was a weak, pitiful cough, but a sound nonetheless. The crying stopped instantly,

“Jaime?” Tyrion. Of course it was – his brothers voice was filled with sudden hope, “Jaime, you're alive, gods be praised”.

He wished he could respond, but just continuing to breathe felt like a more impossible task from each second to the next, even as weight was lifted from his body brick by brick. He fixed his thoughts on Brienne.

“l’m coming back to you my love. I'm holding on. For you”.


	12. Find My Way Back to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song for this Chapter is “Find My Way Back” by Eric Aries
> 
> “On my way now  
> Don’t give up on me  
> And no one knows what  
> What tomorrow brings  
> These weary eyes will never rest  
> Until they look in yours again  
> I’m on my way now  
> I still believe
> 
> Even underneath the waves  
> I’ll be holding on to you  
> And even if you slip away  
> I’ll be there to fall into the dark  
> To chase your heart  
> No distance could ever tear us apart  
> There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do  
> I’ll find my way back to you”

Dusk was just starting to fall over the mountains, light bleeding down toward the horizon. Brienne shifted in her saddle for the hundredth time, trying to ease the ache in her hips and back. She'd spent years on the road, riding for days at a time, but she'd never felt so ready to rest as at the end of this one.

A few months stuck in Winterfell had really impacted her fitness, and she resolved whatever she ended up doing or wherever she’d be spending the next months and years, she would focus much more on training. There didn't need to be a war for her to want to keep herself sharp. Idle time spent with Jaime, followed by pining over Jaime had distracted her – a fact that made her both happy and angry at the same time. 

She'd been so much a loner, so determined to be independent her whole life, that the fact that she wanted him, needed him, made her feel like a failure, and yet, she loved it. She felt torn - sad and angry that he'd left, worried about his safety, and yet still desperately in love. Her heart felt sore, day and night, and she couldn't imagine what she'd do if he was gone, or how she'd handle seeing him again if he wasn't.

They were six days out from Winterfell, and should finally reach the boat some time tomorrow. They would make camp in the valley overnight - Lady Sansa's men had already ridden ahead to pitch the tents, and she could see the faint lights of fires beginning to wink into life below them as the road dropped down off the rise. There was a soft breeze blowing and it was surprising how much warmer it felt even these few hundred miles further south. The snow had mostly melted, and it would soon be cosy in the camp with fires blazing. 

They’d stayed the previous nights in inns and holdfasts, but she was actually looking forward to sleeping outdoors again - it took her back to years gone by, happy memories of life on the road, with Pod, and with Jaime. Of course, they’d largely slept in the open, on bedrolls under the stars, but a tent still allowed her to hear the sound of the night - a natural music that always helped her drift off to sleep.

They reached the camp, and were shown to their sleeping quarters, the two larger tents for Sansa and Bran, and a small tent for her - with Pod sleeping in with the men. She was pleased to have privacy, and for once decided to remove her armour for the evening meal, the delicious scent of roasting meat wafting in as she undressed. 

A jug of warmed water had been placed on a stand near the bed and she pulled off her tunic, dousing her head eagerly before reaching for the bar of tallow soap beside it to lather her face and neck. A wash in warm water was never a luxury she would take for granted, and she enjoyed the few minutes of indulgence before towelling off and pulling on the fresh tunic she'd retrieved from her saddlebag.

Her stomach was growling by this point, and she realised just how famished she was. Thankfully her nausea appeared to have eased on the past few days ride - perhaps the change of scenery and air was doing her good. Her appetite had certainly returned with a venge¬ance, and she intend to make the most of it.

Sansa and Pod were already seated at the fire when she made her way outside, and Pod gestured to a space on the log beside him for her to sit down. She did, wishing there was something to rest her back against, but enthusiastically accepting the plate that was offered to her. She was halfway through her food when she looked up and realised her two fireside companions were staring at her.

“Well you're clearly feeling better,” Sansa was teasing slightly, but there was a warmth to her comment, “I'm glad”. Pod was smiling whilst also shovelling food into his mouth - she could tell he was happy to see her enjoying her meal. It felt wonderful to have people around her who genuinely cared, especially in such uncertain times, both in the world as a whole, and for her personally. It was something she'd lacked through the years - she'd learned to rely on herself, but perhaps it was time to lean on others a little. She smiled back at both of them,

"I am, much better." She felt a sudden guilt at putting her own concerns ahead of the woman she was sworn to - Sansa must be so worried about her brother, "How are you feeling my Lady?"

Sansa didn't answer immediately - but that wasn't unusual. Astute and measured, she generally took time to consider everything she said. Then she smiled,

"I thank you for your concern, but I've endured much worse than this, as has my brother. Jon can take care of himself, and honestly, no matter what happens now, I am glad we are free of Daenerys Targaryen. I never believed she was the right person to be our queen, no more than Cersei". Her ability to be objective was admirable, but Brienne wondered at the long term health of being so detached. She saw much of herself in Sansa, despite their journeys being very different.

There was a commotion at the north end of the camp - the three rose from their seating place and turned to see what it was. The sound of hooves galloping down the road towards them rang out across the valley. Brienne hand instinctively dropped to her sword, and she felt a stab of pride when she saw Pod’s do the same. She couldn't imagine there was any danger to a Stark party in the North now, but she felt the familiar wave of battle arousal wash through her as her body prepared itself for possible attack. She led the way to the northern camp entrance, moving a little sideways as she did so Lady Sansa was shielded behind her. She didn't draw her sword, but kept her hand firmly on the hilt. 

By the time she and Pod reached the road, the single rider had already been intercepted by some of the Stark men, and she instantly recognised him as a Winterfell messenger boy. Her confusion deepened – had they left some important item behind that he'd been sent after them with? Then the men who'd met him turned around, and she became quickly aware that they were looking at her. One of them spoke,

"Ser Brienne, a raven came for you after we left Winterfell". She saw the scroll in his hand at the same moment that the meaning of his words hit her. She was receiving a letter for one of only two reasons - either it was from Jaime or it contained news of Jaime. She moved forward wordlessly, and took the letter from his outstretched hand. She stared at it for a few seconds, painfully aware of the multitude of eyes on her waiting for her to unroll it.

"I would be grateful if you could all have the courtesy to allow Ser Brienne to read her letter in private". She could have kissed Sansa as the Lady put a hand on her shoulder and turned her back towards the sleeping tents. She remained silent as she guided Brienne back to her tent, motioning her to enter, then said simply,

"If you need me I’ll be right outside".

Brienne entered, seating herself on the bed and with trembling hands, unrolled the scroll. Her heart dropped in her chest when she saw the writing - she realised then how much she'd been hoping to see Jaime's lazy scrawl. Instead she was met with a rather blocky, childlike hand she didn't recognise on a page littered with spelling errors,

_"Ser Brienne,_

_I hope you will forgive my poor writing skills, but I am charged with writing to you by circumstance as those who would be more suited to the task are unable to do so.  
I am sure by now you will be aware of events here over the past few days, and the uncertainty with which the world is now faced._

_However, there are those of us who understand that even as world altering events occur, concerns of the heart are still of great importance. Lord Tyrion currently resides in the cells, but he has impressed upon me the depth of your personal relationship with his brother, and thus within this letter you shall find news of such._

_Firstly I shall end the suspense you are inevitably feeling and bring you that news - Ser Jaime is alive, albeit gravely ill. The house of healing in which he currently resides is doing everything they can for him, but we can only pray that he makes a recovery._

_Secondly, to the events which landed him there - it would appear that he entered the Red Keep sometime during Daenerys' attack, seemingly in the hope of getting his sister to safety, but was unsuccessful. Both of them were buried in the partial collapse of the Keep - Cersei did not survive._

_When Lord Tyrion found them, Ser Jaime was barely alive. His injuries are severe, but he has rallied somewhat since my contacts in Kings Landing brought him to safety. Tyrion was soon after incarcerated, but not before he passed me the message that his brother needed help, and so I did what I could._

_I know you will be coming here soon with Lady Sansa, and I will meet you on your arrival to update you on Ser Jaime's condition. If I could send further news along your journey I would but as you know, that is not possible._

_I hope this letter brings you some small comfort, I wish the news was better, but from what little I know of you, I thought you would rather be aware than spend further weeks in the dark._

_Yours with best wishes,  
Ser Davos Seaworth”_

Brienne felt heat flush through her body. She was elated at the fact Jaime was alive - but obviously very worried about him. She was grateful, for Davos' letter as he had rightly surmised, but now she was left with the same interminable waiting she had been before. 

It must have been some days since the letter had been written, but the one thing she was oddly certain about was that he was still alive - something told her she would surely know in her heart if he was gone. She felt a primal connection to him that mystified her.

She was hit with a sudden fear that he could be alone and afraid and she was desperate to be with him. It didn't matter that he'd left her, she needed to be there to nurse him through his illness like she'd done once before. She wondered if he was aware, if he know what was happening, if he wanted her as much as she wanted him. If he knew Cersei was finally gone from this world.

She stood up from the bed then, on shaking legs, ready to seek the support she was beginning to accept she needed. She made her way out of the tent to find Sansa waiting anxiously a short distance away. She put the young woman quickly out of her misery,

"He's badly injured, but alive." A huge sigh of relief accompanied her words, and she watched the same relief wash over Sansa's expression. Then her Lady embraced her, tentatively but warmly, and that same feeling of belonging filled her - whatever happened with Jaime she knew she would have support. 

The tears came then, all the emotion of the past weeks flooding out of her, uncontrolled. She wondered if they would ever stop, if the impossibly huge well of love for him that threatened to burst her heart, would ever find its home once again. She couldn't unravel the knotted mass of feelings that threatened to swamp her.

In the end, she cried herself to exhaustion, Sansa and Pod almost carrying her to bed and the Lady helping her undress - she fell quickly into a fitful sleep, dreams of Jaime following fast behind.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

_Brienne's feet dropped into the soft bed of fresh snow as she dismounted. The forest was silent, all noise muffled by the white blanket that covered the ground, and adorned every branch. The snowfall had stopped now, and the featureless pale grey cloud which had been endless for the past few weeks had finally given way to blue sky and sunshine. It was the perfect day to take some time to unwind._

__

__

_Leisure pursuits had been such a foreign concept to Brienne through her life, and particularly in these past years of war, but Sansa had persuaded her that it was important not to dedicate one’s entire life to work. There had to be time to simply enjoy being alive otherwise what was all the rest of it even for? Besides, she'd warmed much more to the idea of free time lately, since she’d had someone to share it with._

_Jaime dismounted beside her, and they tied the horses up to a tree before he started to unpack the saddlebags. Brienne gathered firewood, scraping away a patch of snow to assemble the fire, close to a fallen tree they could seat themselves on. It took a little time to light, the wood smoking away its dampness before catching properly. By the time it was ablaze, Jaime had skinned the two rabbits they'd caught on the journey and they cobbled together a spit from pointed sticks roast them on. It had been a couple of hours ride to this spot, close to a large hot spring pool which was the main focus of their visit, and Brienne was ravenous. She tore into the meat eagerly, soon polishing off her meal._

_"Aside from the snow, this really reminds me of being back on Tarth. It's so peaceful". Brienne glanced around the forest, feeling for the first time in a long while the pang of missing her homeland. She loved it, and her father, dearly but it also held a lot of painful memories for her,_

_"You never talked about it much". There was a genuine interest in Jaime's eyes, but she also sensed a wariness - he wasn't sure if her past was something she wanted to discuss, and she felt a wave of love for his sensitivity._

_“It was never Tarth that was the issue. It lives up to its reputation of being one of the most beautiful places in Westeros,” she hesitated, not sure if she should say what came to mind next, not sure if it was too much, too soon. Something spurred her to be bold,_

_"I'd love to show it to you someday". He smiled, and the light in his eyes made her shiver._

_"I'd like that". A simple response, but one that told her that this... whatever this was between them, was significant to him as well as her. And that was enough for now – some days her mind tried to run away with thoughts of the future, but she really was content just to enjoy the present._

_"I didn't have the greatest childhood, but it made me strong. You were right about none of the boys being able to overpower me". It was an odd time to take them back to when they'd first met, to those initial assumptions and prejudices. They’d said some hurtful things and made judgements about each other that were very wrong._

_“But we never did discover if I could beat you in a fair fight. You said maybe we would one day - I'm glad it never came to that. At least, not for real. Would have been fun to find out though, don't you think?" She wasn't wearing her armour – it had felt odd to leave the castle walls without it, but it seemed even more odd to wear armour on... whatever this was. There was, however, always the threat of wolves out here and so she had brought a sword – she found herself reaching for it at Jaime's words._

_He was right - it would be fun to find out. Of course he may never be as good a swordsman as before he lost his hand, but he was certainly formidable. She liked to think she could beat him but that was in no way assured. He watched her as she slowly stood, discarding the scabbard to the floor, rotating her sword once as she kept her eyes fixed on him._

_"You want to go right now?" He couldn't disguise his delight and she wondered if he'd had something like this in mind all along. She was suddenly excited by the game,_

_"Unless you aren't up for it". She saw the challenge burn through him, and he was quickly on his feet, catlike, blade in hand._

_"Oh I'm up for it! He emphasised the word 'up', the unsubtle innuendo heating her skin._

_They circled each other, one way then the other, as they had on a bridge many years before. They could never have imagined back then, all that would come to pass between them, and yet here they were – from grudging respect, through friends, to comrades, and finally lovers._

_Brienne took a tentative swipe at him, which he deflected easily. They were both well practiced at sparring, but without armour it was a whole different game. This was going to be won with skill, not with brute force –and she worried that may favour him._

_He came at her, his footwork flawless across the frosted ground, snow scuffed aside. She parried him away, and he danced past her, turning sharply to face her again. She feinted to the left, as if she was going to swing a heavy blow, but then switched to the right coming at his shoulder, ready to pull back so she didn't hurt him. She needn't have bothered - he anticipated her move without the slightest trouble, their blades clashing sharply together._

_"Your tell is much less than it once was, but still there". He knew her too well, and she was beginning to wonder how she was going to beat him. Then he made a move she didn't expect. He ducked, thrust to throw her off balance, then swung his sword aside as he rushed her, shoulder barging her to the ground, his weight landing hard on top of her. He pinned one arm above her head with his good hand, forcing her to release her sword, face triumphant._

_She bucked her hips, twisting beneath him and rolling him onto his back, straddling him. He didn't look any less pleased, however, and he pressed his hips up into her. He wasn't fully hard, but enough so that she could tell he was aroused. So was she - she could feel her stiff nipples grazing the inside of her tunic, and dampness pooling between her legs as she ground down on him._

_"So do we declare you the winner then? I certainly don't feel like I've lost". She'd secretly wished he had been able to wholly overpower her, but she couldn't bring herself to let him win, even for the game._

_"It would appear so." She hoped she'd conveyed the appropriate amount of disappointment even if it didn't last long. Now, as cold and wet it was on the ground, desire overtook her and she leaned forward to kiss him, hard, moaning as her breasts met his chest._

_That was when he made his move, flipping her onto her back once more, and this time she didn’t resist. She loved the feel of his weight on top of her pressing her down, snow melt soaking into the back of her tunic. It was oddly freeing, to relinquish control, to allow herself to be vulnerable, to trust him enough to give herself to him. He'd been right all those years ago, she *had* wondered what it would be like for one of those boys to defeat her, to take her, but there was a yawning gulf between wondering and wanting._

_It was Jaime, he did this to her. She loved and hated the way he quickened her heartbeat, how his voice twisted her stomach into knots, how him close to her prickled her skin with delicious heat. Just being near him made her want things she'd never known how to want before. He'd awoken her ability to desire and she revelled in it._

_He continued the kiss she'd started, firm but languid. She let him control the pace as she found the hem of his shirt and pushed her hands beneath the damp material. He drew in a sharp breath as his skin was exposed to the cold, then a second when her nails grazed his back. His hips thrust against hers once more and again she met them, although this time she remained on her back. The cold was seeping up from the earth into her wet skin, but the heat pulsing in her core made her remain where she was, in the thrall of the man she loved._

_His hand found the lacing of her tunic, loosening the strings enough to slip inside and palm her breast. Just like everything else it was cold, and slightly damp, but that only served to intensify the sensation as his thumb found her nipple. Her gasp ended the kiss, which he then traced down her neck. She nuzzled her face into his hair, taking in the smell of him which she loved so much, edged with the tang of woodsmoke from their cook fire._

_She couldn't help but shiver then, as the cold reached her bones, and he drew back, regarding her. She felt instantly bereft, but had to admit defeat or they would both likely end up ill from exposure. She was glad they'd brought towels and dry clothes for after the hot spring and they wouldn't be forced to ride back sodden and freezing._

_He helped her to her feet, but the sight of him flushed with his cock tenting his breeches brought her a new wave of arousal and she pulled him to her by the front of his shirt backing up until she bumped up against a tree trunk. As he took the hint and pressed her back against the tree, hard, she ran her hands down his sides then traced his length through the material. He groaned and claimed her mouth with his again, tongue forcing its way in._

_She fumbled the fastenings, eager to free him, needing to feel him hot and hard in her hand. Her eagerness was mirrored as he moved his own hand to her trousers, struggling for a few seconds before giving up and yanking them down, buttons scattering into the snow._

_In each of their previous encounters, he'd entered her slowly, gently but she urged him on by gripping his ass in both hands and pulling him to her. Pressing her backwards even more firmly he hooked his arms under her thighs and lifted her off the ground – instinctively she wrapped her legs around his waist. She felt him hesitate, so she bent her head to his ear,_

_"Jaime I need you inside me, please". He didn't need asking twice, with a grunt he slammed into her with one long thrust, and she cried out, ending the cry of shock with a delighted laugh._

_He started up a relentless pace, fucking her hard against the tree as she clung on, helpless and gasping with pleasure. They came together, fast, her climax surprising her with its speed and intensity, then his knees gave way, spilling them both into the snow._

_He looked to her with concern at first, worried she'd been hurt in the fall, but she started laughing at the joy and absurdity of it. Uninjured, aside from a loss of dignity, they were soon both laughing uncontrollably, trying to cover cold bare skin with what remained of their clothing before they found one another's arms and mouths again._

^^^^^^^^^^^^

Brienne woke from her dream in a tangle of furs, skin slick with sweat and heart racing. She felt immediately bereft for the lack of Jaime's embrace, body tingling with arousal. She silently cursed her mind for conjuring what had doubtless been their most passionate sexual encounter. Happening just a few days before they'd parted, she'd thought of it often, but the dream made it feel real once more. 

She missed him terribly, which was hardly surprising, but what had surprised her was that she didn't just miss *him*. She also missed the intimacy and physical pleasure of sex – a foreign land to her before Jaime. His kiss, his skilful touch, his naked body warm against hers, how good his hard cock felt inside her. She’d never imagined she could enjoy it, that she could crave him, the way she did.

She turned over, trying to ignore the throbbing ache between her legs, but she managed it for only a minute or so before frustration and curiosity got the better of her. She trailed a hand southward, dragging over sensitive flesh, pressing one finger, then two into her core. She stifled the gasp against the crook of her other arm. She'd never felt the urge to do this before, never known what to do if she had, but Jaime had shown her, found out what she liked, what felt good. She brought herself to climax thinking of him, imagining him thrusting into her, stomach clenched at the illicit thrill of it. 

As the aftershocks died away, she felt a warmth and a comfort she hadn't felt since Jaime had left. She felt close to him, and with that closeness, came a certainty that she would lie beside him again, come what may.

_“Hold on Jaime, my love, I’ll be there soon.”_


	13. You Let Her Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is ‘Let Her Go’ by Passenger
> 
> “Staring at the ceiling in the dark  
> Same old empty feeling in your heart  
> Love comes slow and it goes so fast  
> Well you see her when you fall asleep  
> But never to touch and never to keep
> 
> Cause you only need the light when it’s burning low  
> Only miss the sun when it starts to snow  
> Only know you love her when you let her go  
> And you let her go”

Jaime came to with the feeling of soft hands on him.

"Brienne, is that you?" No sound came out. He realised quickly it couldn't be her - she didn't have hands this soft. Her hands were calloused and work worn, but they were still beautiful. To him, perfect. Real. These hands he couldn't place. He couldn’t remember where he’d been before he fell asleep.

Tyrion. He remembered Tyrion's voice, his brother's tears, then joy. The crushing weight was gone, and he could breathe again. Where was he? The soft hands brought warmth - there was still pain, but it was duller, more bearable. He tried to move, but he was tired, so very tired, and his body didn't want to respond.

There was a tightness, across his leg, his arm and torso. It took his lethargic mind several minutes to realise the feeling was bandages - wherever he was someone was caring for him. He tried to speak again and a strangled sort of moan reached his ears - was that his voice?

"Don't try to speak my Lord. Just rest now". He didn't recognise the voice, it sounded like someone trying to speak through water - distant, muffled and distorted, but he could tell it was a woman’s voice. Tyrion? Brienne? Where are you? He tried to remember what had happened after he’d heard Tyrion’s voice.

Darkness, pain - so much pain. Hands on him, rough, strong hands but not Brienne’s - men's hands. Bumping, lifting and pain. Screaming, he'd screamed. A lot. He could still feel the roughness in the back of his throat. So much pain and then... he must have passed out.

Then he'd woken up here. He desperately wanted to know where he was, where his brother was and his love. But of course Brienne was hundreds of miles away in Winterfell, probably hating him, probably wishing him dead. But, for the moment at least, it seemed he was defying her wishes and remaining out of the grasp of The Stranger.

What had he done? What had he given up for Cersei yet again - the woman who had destroyed his life. Bringing her to mind made an anger rise in him that he hadn’t realised he had enough energy left for and he resolved he would not think of her any more. She did not deserve even a second more of him. His choice had seemed so noble when he left and yet now he could only wish he was far to the North with Brienne - he wondered what she was doing, who she was with. The time they'd spent together had been the best days of his life. 

How many mistakes could one man make before the Gods decided his life was forfeit? He’d never been religious but he had to admit he didn't deserve any more chances to fix all he'd done wrong. He thought of the many good people who'd died over the past few years and how much more they deserved to still be here than him. Perhaps he too wouldn't be here much longer, and maybe that was for the best.

For whatever time he had remaining, he would think only of Brienne. He owed her that much at least, that she be in his dying thoughts, whatever meagre substitute that was for being by her side. They hadn't talked much of the future - he wondered if on some level, that was because he'd known, and feared, what was to come. If that nameless fear had made him hold back from committing to her - from voicing aloud the dreams and desires that, regardless, filled his head. Dreams about how he wanted to be with her always, to marry her and make a home together. 

He'd been overjoyed when she'd said she wanted to show him Tarth. The brief glimpse he'd had of it on his journey to Dorne had moved him in ways he didn't expect. Why then, had it taken him so long to realise he loved her? He'd never considered the possibility - not for so long a time, almost until it was too late. Then he'd had her and he'd let her slip away or, more accurately, he'd chosen to leave when she was everything he could ever have needed or wanted. That made him the worst kind of fool.

Hot - he was so hot - it felt as if wildfire was being pumped into his veins. A cold cloth was pressed against his forehead, but it could only have been a minute or two until it was as hot as the rest of him. He struggled on the bed, managing to move a little this time, and eliciting more concerned, soothing words from whoever his carer was. Where was Tyrion?

"My Lord, you must rest. You're very sick and we're taking the best care of you we can, but you must save your energy". He tried to relax, hoping that meant... whoever she was, would realise he'd heard her and talk to him again. He liked to hear the voice - it gave him a few moments respite from his own mind, which was determined to take him in circles, chastising him over and over.

He thought once again of Tarth - The Sapphire Isle - and how its waters had indeed been just as blue as in the tales. Such an idyllic place almost seemed too good to belong to this vile, corruption filled world where people trod others into the dirt for money and power. He had been no better than any of them, going to any lengths to satisfy his own ends but, just like Tarth, wonderful Brienne was too good for this world. Just by existing in it she changed it, made it that little bit better, brighter, and he liked to think that, for a time at least, she'd done the same for him. Shown him it was possible to be better if you surrounded yourself with the right influence.

And how could thought of his love’s homeland not take him back to that dark night on the road to Harrenhal? He would never regret what he did that night, what he saved Brienne from, even though it lost him his hand. It was one of the few true and noble things he'd ever done in his life.

 _"Why did you help me?"_ He hadn't known how to answer her at the time, wasn't even sure if he knew entirely how to answer now. Because it was the right thing to do? Because she deserved it? Because the world needed people like her? Or because on some level he'd already loved her, even that long ago?

She was right of course, he'd known there were no sapphires on Tarth. There were few things about Westerosi history his father hadn't beaten into him at one time or another. The only sapphires he'd ever known Tarth produce were the two sparkling blue eyes that had pierced right into his soul and pulled out a tiny glimmer of goodness he hadn't even known was there. The truth was, he'd saved her because she had made it possible for him save her. Because she'd made him believe there might just be something worth saving in himself.

Then, of course, there'd been the bear. He could never have envisaged the lie he'd told to save her once would come back to condemn her for a second time. And yet, it was still his responsibility to put it right - both for honour and for the nameless force that compelled him to save her once again; the connection that had forged stronger with every passing day and refused to be broken whatever was thrown at them. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was a chance it would prevail once more, against its greatest ever challenge - the one that had been made from within. And more so, whether that was something he deserved.

The gallop back to Harrenhal had been a blur, heart thumping in his chest as he tried not to think of all the horrendous things they might be doing to her. As soon as they arrived, and his feet hit the courtyard stones, he heard the singing and he knew what he would find. She'd looked oddly small down there in the pit, facing off against that huge beast. Ironic, really, given the words he'd thrown carelessly at her when they first met. 

It was hard to see her that way, rendered all but defenceless, her arms and shoulders slim without her armour, that awful dress clinging to her curves. He guessed he'd never truly thought of her as a woman until that moment, but in all the days after he had struggled to see her in any other way. He'd watched as the claw mark opened up below her shoulder, crimson and angry. It would become a scar he'd know well - love in some strange way - and later run his fingers over many times when they lay together.

His mind was taken now, by the blissful nights, and mornings, and afternoons they'd spent wrapped up in one another, each shielding the other from the world, and from the past. It almost brought him to tears that, for a few weeks, he'd been privileged to be part of something so perfect. Something he'd chosen to give up. He missed her, so much so he wondered how he was even continuing to exist without her presence. He wanted her arms around him, her warm body against his, more than he had ever wanted anything.

But it wasn't all about the sex, as much as he’d enjoyed that and as much as he'd been surprised by how passionate she could be. It was about how she’d made him feel about himself, good instead of dirty; how she'd spoken to him and touched him with respect; how he’d been welcome in her bed, both before and after they made love; and how she'd made him feel safe lying beside her.

He would be forever glad he'd thrown himself into that pit to save her. That he'd used his father's name as currency for the hundredth time despite what it had already cost him. He'd owed her a debt, one he'd sworn to repay with the Stark girls' lives, but that was before he'd saved her life on top of saving her honour. One may have been forgiven for thinking that was his duty discharged.

But the debt he owed her, for everything she'd done for him through the years, was one even saving her life a thousand times could not repay. She was everything, and he’d let her go.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

_The road out of Harrenhal was uneven, and even more tedious the second time. But to Jaime, how right it had felt to ride it with Brienne at his side only served to highlight the unease he'd felt without her on the previous journey. He should never have left her back there, and couldn't imagine now how he'd thought it would turn out well. After what Locke had done to him, and tried to do to her before, he was a fool to have even considered trusting the man’s honour. Thank the gods they'd gotten back in time._

_Neither he nor Brienne had wanted to linger after he'd talked Locke into letting them leave together – just long enough for her to change, and grab what few possessions they could locate. Her armour and weapons were nowhere to be found, but Jaime had a plan to replace those when they returned to Kings Landing. So, for now, they were at the mercy of the Bolton men, who he trusted to protect them only as far as it was in their own interest._

_They’d made the ride down to their first night’s camp largely in silence – Brienne staring ahead, her thoughts her own, but he’d learnt to read her enough that he could tell they were not happy ones. Perhaps images of the day playing out relentlessly in her mind, like the moment his hand had been severed did for him. She’d talk when she was ready and he left her to it._

_Qyburn to the other side of him had glanced around constantly – the countryside was pretty featureless on this stretch of the Kings Road, but maybe he was on the look out for some herb or other. He didn’t really know the man enough yet to make him out - but despite the fact that he, in all likelihood, owed him his life there was an air about him that set him on edge._

_The day ended unremarkably, in contrast to how it had begun and, camp made, evening meal eaten, there was finally time to rest. The last of the Bolton men, aside from the two on guard duty, had retired to their beds, leaving Brienne and Jaime seated alone at the fire._

_Jaime nursed a tankard of hot spiced wine, Brienne preferring her usual tea. Qyburn had suggested a variation to the blend which she'd accepted graciously, and seemed to be enjoying whilst staring into the flames. Their silence was companionable enough, but eventually Brienne spoke,_

_“It seems I have to thank you once again, Ser Jaime. This time for my life.” Her face was so much softer when she was unguarded like this, perhaps he could even see a handsomeness in it. More importantly he knew not many were permitted to see this side of her and he felt privileged that she trusted him with herself, even after the truce they'd agreed to._

_"You have nothing to thank me for. In fact, I must apologise for leaving you there in the first place". She took a drink from her mug and it prompted him to do the same. When she looked up at him again there was a profound compassion in her eyes._

_"You didn't have to come back for me. You were on your way to safety, on your way back to Cersei. I know what that means to you – what *she* means to you". Her mention of Cersei shocked him, along with her seeming acceptance of what she was to him. He didn't expect that, from anyone._

_"I... never thought you’d understand that. Cersei and I – we're usually nothing but a joke to people, a dirty joke to be told in alehouses. But I love her, despite all the baggage"._

_"I know you do. And it was you that once said to me 'we don’t get to choose who we love'. How right you are. If there’s one thing this world needs it’s more love". Was there no end to the goodness in her? In some ways she reminded him of Ned Stark, albeit less self righteous – perhaps Lady Catelyn felt that in her too and that was why she took Brienne into her service after Renly’s death._

_"I did have to come back for you. When I found out they’d refused your father’s offer… I’d never imagined that would happen. I suppose I’m just so used to being able to buy people with gold and my father’s name. I should have known what kind of person Locke is after... everything, but I just took my ticket out of here and rode away. I owe you better than that." Brienne took a pot of water off the fire, and poured a little into a bowl that was beside her. Then she met his eyes again,_

_"I don't know how you persuaded them to return, but I know it must have meant risking yourself again. That's before we even start on you jumping into a pit with an angry bear". Jaime found himself as tongue tied as when she’d thanked him the first time. The feelings stirred up by praise were so foreign to him he felt compelled to dismiss it, but it was hard to deny he had in fact saved her life._

_Brienne turned her attention to loosening her tunic, easing it down off her shoulder to expose the bandage over her claw wound. Some blood had soaked through the dressing, and she winced as she gingerly removed the bandages to reveal three angry slashes. They were deep, and in the one that ended just at the base of her neck Jaime could see bone. She must be in a lot of pain, but she'd barely complained._

_"Qyburn said I should change the poultice before retiring. She motioned to the bowl with her head –it was beginning to emit a pleasant herbal scent Jaime had become extremely familiar with. She winced again as she reached for the replacement poultice. Jaime shuffled along the log towards her, closing half the distance between them._

_"Let me help you". She looked up, the firelight and shadow playing across her features. She smiled slightly,_

_"Thank you". He closed the remaining space, warming his hand at the fire before reaching down to take the poultice from the bowl. It still felt odd, and frustrating, doing everything with one hand but, as Brienne had told him in no uncertain terms, he couldn't just quit. This was his new reality now, and he had to get used to it._

_Brienne hissed through clenched teeth as he applied the fresh dressing against her wound. He wished he had his other hand to wrap around her back, to rest on her other shoulder and reassure her, but he hoped his sympathetic expression would be enough. She repeated her soft smile as she raised a hand to hold the poultice in place. As he withdrew his, his fingers brushed against her collar bone and he heard her breath catch in her throat. He paused for a moment but she didn't recoil or push him away so he continued – retrieving a bandage and unrolling a short stretch._

_Brienne tucked the end between her hand and the dressing so Jaime was able to wrap the bandage around her with his one good hand, over her shoulder and beneath her other arm. It wasn't an easy process, both hampered by their respective injuries, but Jaime persisted with greater than usual patience, pretending not to notice as her tunic slipped further down, partially exposing her breasts._

_He was humbled and honoured once again, that she trusted him enough to be this vulnerable in his presence and once the bandaging was complete, he pulled the tunic up by the collar to cover her. Wanting to give her space, and needing space himself from the unexpected intimacy of the moment, he said,_

_"I’m going to retire now, unless you need any further assistance". She seemed relaxed, much more than he'd ever seen her, and it was almost like she was a whole different person. He found himself suddenly aware that at some point soon they would have to part, and he realised he would really miss her,_

_"I don't, thank you. Goodnight Ser Jaime"._

_"Goodnight Lady Brienne." It was a short step to where a bedroll had been laid out for him, but only once he lay down did he realise just how exhausted he was from the events of the day._

_And so, finally able to rest, he closed his eyes and he dreamed of her._

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

It was both joyous, and painful, to go back to that time when she'd thanked him for saving her life, and sealed their friendship forever. She'd tried save his life in return; stood in the snow in just a robe, begging him to stay. And he could have - he could have stayed. Could have gone back even, once he'd left, like he had for her at Harrenhal. But he hadn't, and now he was paying the price.

He could feel himself growing weaker, feel the pain returning, pulsing out in waves from his stomach, and with it the wildfire heat that seared him inside and out. He was dying. He knew it now more surely then he had through the immeasurable time it had been since the world came crashing down upon him.

His strength was failing and breathing was harder once more. The darkness hovered all around him and he felt sure it would take him at any moment. All he could to was lie, unmoving, and hope that by some miracle he would hear her voice again before he slipped away.

And, as he left his body behind to drift on the gentle tide that lapped the shores of Tarth in his mind’s eye, he dreamed of her once again.


	14. Someone You Loved Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I’ve decided to post this chapter in two parts, then there’s actually a chance of it being done this side of Christmas 😂😂😂
> 
> Song is “Someone You Loved” by Lewis Capaldi
> 
> “I’m going under and this time I fear there’s no one to save me  
> This all or nothing really got a way of driving me crazy  
> I need somebody to hear  
> Somebody to know  
> Somebody to have  
> Somebody to hold  
> It’s easy to say  
> But it’s never the same  
> I guess I kinda liked the way you numbed all the pain”

The grey dawn was slowly painting its weak light across the ocean. Brienne looked out over the sea, fixing her eyes on the orange glow of the horizon. She prayed for the churning in her stomach to ease, knuckles whitened by her iron grip on the bow rail. 

She'd been feeling a return of her all too familiar nausea since they'd set sail, and had woken in her cramped cabin a short time earlier feeling really sick. She'd somehow managed to make her way shakily to the deck, hoping some air would help but it hadn't, and she'd spent the past half hour emptying her stomach over the side of the boat. 

She was exhausted, and her muscles ached from vomiting, her knees trembling with the exertion. The waves were not exactly rough, but the motion beneath her feet was constant and gave her no respite. The ship pitched a little, and she felt her stomach rise in her throat, forcing her to retch again. She drew in a rasping breath, trying to gather herself, thankful at least that she now seemed to have nothing left to throw up.

As she continued to grip the side of the ship, she became aware of someone else's presence, approaching slowly across the deck. Sudden fear of appearing weak setting her on edge, she desperately tried to regain some sort of composure, as she looked to her right to see who it was. She instantly regretted it, the sudden attempt to turn her head redoubling the nausea, and she was sick again, bile burning her throat.

"Are you all right?" It was Sansa, thank the heavens, and the relief at not having to try and hold herself together instantly relaxed her. She couldn't speak, so simply shook her head in response. Sansa continued,

"I couldn't sleep so I came up to watch the sunrise. Then I... heard you". It was hard not to feel embarrassed, despite what they'd been through together – listening to someone hurling their guts up was hardly a great way to start the day, despite how well you knew them.

Sansa tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder, gradually moving it down to rub her back. After a couple more dry heaves, Brienne slowly regained control of her stomach. She managed to let go of the rail, but leaned heavily on it with her forearms and carefully turned her head to finally look at Sansa.

"Thank you. I’m sorry you had to see that". Sansa's smile seemed genuine – she didn't appear the least perturbed by her rather inelegant start to the day.

"Seasickness is horrible. I had it a little when I left King's Landing, thankfully mild. Do you always get this sick? You never mentioned it before we set sail." Brienne shook her head again, gingerly, still not wholly trusting her recovery.

“I've never been seasick in my life. And I have been on my fair share of ships.” She pushed up on her arms, slowly progressing to upright, but keeping one hand firmly on the rail to steady herself.

"But I thought your injury from the battle would have healed by now". Her brow furrowed, and Brienne appreciated the concern, but she was becoming aware of how cold she was and that she was only wearing the thin tunic and linen trousers she'd pulled on before leaving her cabin. She suddenly felt self conscious, wrapping her free arm around herself. Sansa regarded her critically,

"We should go inside", Sansa offered her arm, hooking it through Brienne’s and encouraging her to finally let go, before helping her move slowly back inside, "we can sit in my cabin for a while, it's a little roomier than yours".

When they reached the room, Brienne eased herself onto the bunk resting back slightly but leaving as much room as she could for Sansa to sit down. The younger woman retrieved a bucket and placed it unceremoniously beside her.

"Just in case". The idea of vomiting into a bucket in her lady's cabin mortified Brienne, and she was thankful the rolling of the ship seemed to have eased a little. As Sansa sat down, Brienne rubbed a hand in the small of her back – the ache from their days in the saddle had still not abated, and clenching against the cold had made it stiffer. She groaned.

"Your back's still hurting?" Brienne tried to stretch into a position that would ease it, leaning forward again, arms resting on her knees as she nodded,

"Too much time relaxing doesn't seem to agree with me". She expected Sansa to smile in response, but she didn't, keeping her lips pressed together as she looked Brienne up and down with a sceptical expression. Brienne squirmed under her gaze, again feeling exposed,

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Brienne’s unease intensified. This was starting to feel like an interrogation, one she was certain would end in her incriminating herself, but she trusted Sansa enough to hear the question. After all she didn’t have to answer it.

"Yes..." she replied tentatively.

"When did you last bleed?" The unease solidified into a lump of fear in her gut, forcing her to take a few deep breaths to settle herself again. Sansa extended an arm to rub her back once more, but the lady didn't hurry her to answer. 

She'd known this moment would come, this question or one like it, and in some ways it was a relief. She could stop explaining everything away – dismissing her sickness and dizziness as the head injury which had, in truth, fully healed weeks ago; blaming her fatigue, aching back and weight gain on allowing her training regime slip. It was time to be honest, with herself, as much as those around her.

"Not since before Jaime and I first..." she trailed off under Sansa's gaze, still shy to say the words. Sansa moved her hand back to Brienne's shoulder, the comforting weight steeling her slightly against what the young woman was inevitably going to say next.

"I think you're pregnant". And there it was, the inescapable truth. She was painfully aware how one sided the conversation had been, but she had no idea how to respond other than to nod once more, stiffly, eyes fixed on the cabin boards.

"You knew". Sansa's tone was soft, but held a mild accusation, "Why didn't you talk to me? You don't have to face this alone."

"Yes, I did know, if I’m honest. But I was in denial". She didn't think she'd ever tried so hard to deny anything in her life – she’d been lying to herself for weeks and she didn't really know why. It wasn't as if that would make it go away.

"Well I know you aren't... experienced with men but I didn't think you could be so naive as not to suspect..." Brienne hadn't had much to laugh about through the years, but Sansa's comment genuinely amused her and she chuckled,

"Don't worry my lady, I’m fully aware where babies come from. I allowed Ser Jaime into my bed because I love him, and if that means I’m carrying his child then so be it". Sansa looked a little surprised, indeed she herself was surprised with the surety of her response.

"Did you not drink moon tea?" The slightly accusing tone was back, and Brienne felt a sudden strange guilt, a sense that she'd been irresponsible.

"Well... no".

"So you were trying to get pregnant?" She could see how Sansa would reach that conclusion, but such a deliberate choice couldn’t have been further from her mind. Had she really been so wrapped up in Jaime that taking precautions hadn’t really occurred to her? Or was there more to it than that?

"No". Her tone came out very defensive, and she finally sat up straight on the bunk again, Sansa's hand dropping away as she did so. The Lady's next question was gentler.

"But you weren't doing anything to prevent it?"

"I suppose not... I didn't really think about it".

"And you wonder at me thinking you naive". She felt it, in that moment, like a naive little girl who'd been playing with things she wasn't supposed to and gotten caught. Sansa must think her a fool.

"I mean, of course I knew there was a chance I could get pregnant, but whilst Jaime was around... it was all so much like a dream it didn't seem to matter, and then when he wasn't – I guess I just pushed it to the back of my mind". It was a poor explanation – she was worldly wise enough that she should have known better than to leave something so important, so life changing, in the hands of the gods. On some subconscious level, had she wanted this? Is that why she’d been so reckless? Sansa smiled, but there was sadness behind her eyes.

"You thought he'd ask you to marry him didn't you?" She’d have wondered how a woman so young got to be so wise if she didn't know the horrors Sansa had faced. The irony that she was in effect the inexperienced girl in this situation wasn't lost on her.

"I hoped..." Admitting it was almost harder than admitting to her condition. And it made her feel even more of a fool. She finally managed to make eye contact, and Sansa sighed deeply,

"There was a time when I thought all I wanted was marriage and babies. Of all the women I've known in my life I never imagined that would be for you."

“Neither did I. Until I met Jaime.” Marriage and babies would never be the only things she wanted, but he'd made them into something she could see herself having. Something she didn’t have to deny herself because she wanted other things too.

"You really do love him don't you?"

"My Lady, I wouldn't be in this situation if I didn't". She would still never regret her choice to be with Jaime, no matter what was to come. 

"Of course. I really hope he's all right. For your sake, and the baby's". Sansa’s choice of words made everything suddenly feel very real – almost unconsciously she dropped a hand to her belly. Was she really going to have a baby – Jaime's baby? 

Finally admitting it to herself came with a wave of excitement, closely followed by fear. As much as she loved him, and would love a child that was theirs, she had to face the harsh reality that there was no guarantee he would live. And even if he did live, would he want to take her as his wife? How did she feel about being left with the bastard child of a man of such notorious dishonour?

More to the point was it fair to the child to bring it into the world with such a burden to carry? The question brought with it the fiercest wave of protectiveness towards the tiny life inside her. She had to believe life was always worth living, regardless of the challenges it brought. Whatever her child would have to face in its life, she would teach it to be strong.

“So what should I do now? This is... unfamiliar territory.”

“Let’s get you back to your cabin so you can try and sleep. Once it's a reasonable hour, we should get Sam to see you. Master Lewin always knew how to make my mother feel better when she was pregnant.”

The mention of Catelyn took Brienne back to the time they'd spent together – she was reminded of how Lady Stark spoke of her children with such fire in her eyes. A mother’s love had always been a hazy and nebulous thing to Brienne, her own mother having died when she was very young. The task that had been entrusted to her took on a whole new meaning now, as did the deep scars on Catelyn’s hands – her baby was barely a person yet, but Brienne already understood what it was to be a mother and she knew that her life was forever changed.

^^^^^^^^^^

Brienne lay on the bunk, trying vainly to relax as Sam examined her belly. Sansa had agreed to stay with her, which made the whole experience a little less intimidating, but she was still quaking with nerves. She'd always hated having to visit a Maester – it made her feel uncomfortable and exposed, that feeling heightened given the reason for this visit and its accompanying vulnerability. 

She was fortunate in not having been ill much through her life, but she was already starting to realise her condition was going to involve a lot more poking and prodding than she was accustomed to and she wasn't thrilled at the idea.

And why was it that their hands were always so cold? Jaime had always taken care his hand was warm before touching her – well, aside from that one time in the snow and she hadn’t minded that. Even long years ago before any thought of them being... together, back when he'd helped her change her dressing after the bear pit. 

She grazed her fingers over the scar below her neck, allowing her mind to tumble into hazy pleasant daydreams of how Jaime liked to touch it. Thoughts of him came with a new layer of complicated feelings now, the love and worry still there but the sense of abandonment, of loss, redoubled with the admission that he'd left her with more than just painful memories.

Sam completed his examination and she gratefully pulled down her tunic to cover herself. Sansa dropped a supportive hand onto her shoulder. All he was going to do was confirm what she already knew, but it didn't make the moment of truth any less nerve wracking,

“Well, you're definitely pregnant. I'd estimate about ten or eleven weeks along. The good news is your nausea and other symptoms should start to ease within the next few weeks, and I can give you a herbal remedy that should help until then.” He paused, lips failing to form around his next word for a few seconds, hands wringing together nervously. His voice was softer when he added, “Of course, there's always moon tea, if you'd rather...” 

He trailed off, but the implication was clear. The thought made her feel sick – since she'd first had her suspicions weeks earlier, no matter how afraid she’d felt, be it with or without Jaime she'd never even considered not going through with it,

“No I wouldn't rather!” She put more anger than she'd expected into the response, her new protective instinct overtaking her. 

“I just thought..." Sam's response only fuelled the fire – anger became rage,

"You thought because I'm not married, because the father left me, that I wouldn't want my baby?" He looked terrified, and gibbered under her gaze,

“No... I… I’m sorry... I didn't... I just... wanted you to know you have the choice.” She tried to soften her expression, to calm the passion that had risen in her like a mother bear protecting her cub. After all, in essence that’s what she was now.

"I've made my choice. I'll take the nausea remedy. Thank you". He shuffled around the room, gathering a few things from a trunk beside the bed but he didn't say any more. Sansa’s hand squeezed her shoulder – the younger woman didn't speak either, but Brienne was thankful for her quiet calming presence. After gathering the herbs and crushing them together into a pouch he finally spoke again,

“Brew this into a tea and drink as needed. That should last you until we reach Kings Landing then you should find the ingredients freely available.” He handed her the pouch and a paper with the recipe, "You should try to get plenty of rest, and not overexert yourself. I’m not going to give you a list of things not to do but anything combat related is inadvisable." She knew this, of course, but coming to terms with a forced break from her vocation wasn't going to be easy.

"Thank you". Sansa offered an arm for her to stand which she gratefully accepted. Sam turned to her a final time as she made to leave, his nervousness returned,

“I owe you an apology – I should have considered you might be pregnant when you came to me before. I... hadn't realised it was a possibility.”

"You must have been the only person in Winterfell". Sansa's quip was light, and came with a teasing smirk, but Brienne was still feeling sensitive and she couldn't help frowning at her,

"Well I’m sorry, you weren't exactly discrete". Brienne knew she was right, but it was hard to accept being the source of gossip, especially now. Once she was properly showing, she was sure the taunting she'd always endured would reach new levels and she wasn't looking forward to it. It was one thing to be taunted as a lumbering beast of a woman, but to be carrying the Kingslayer’s bastard on top of that would be too much for some to resist.

Sansa shot her an apologetic look, and Brienne squeezed her arm to reassure her she wasn’t really angry as they exited the cabin.


	15. Someone You Loved Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now the day bleeds, into nightfall  
> And you’re not here, to get me through it all  
> I let my guard down, and then you pulled the rug  
> I was getting kind of used to being someone you loved”

Whilst Brienne and Sansa had been with the Maester, the morning had worn on and the deck was now bustling with people. All Brienne wanted was a place to sit quietly and look out over the calming waves as she tried to take in her monumental news. Her life had felt like some kind of bizarre dream since Jaime's surprise appearance in Winterfell all those weeks ago, but at some point she had to figure out how to come to terms with everything that had occurred and move forward. Of course, that could only really happen once they got to Kings Landing and she knew both what and where her future would be, as well as whether Jaime would be in it.

She glanced around, trying to find an area that was empty of people, and that's when she spotted Pod who was loitering further along towards the stern. He was craning his neck to look in their direction – clearly he'd been waiting for them, and when he saw her he began to move in their direction. Sansa leaned over to whisper in Brienne's ear,

"I think you two need to talk". She gave one last supportive squeeze as she let go of Brienne's arm, and made her way back inside towards the mess hall. Brienne hadn't expected to have this conversation so soon, but she guessed she was going to have to get used to this new reason for people to judge her, to scorn, to whispers and furtive looks. And doubtless, in some cases, to having coarse comments made directly to her face. Taking a deep breath, she strode over to meet Pod halfway across the deck, trying to appear assured. His brow was deeply furrowed, the worry clear on his face,

"Are you all right? I asked where you were and someone said you were sick and visiting the Maester. Are you ill again?" So much for keeping her personal affairs quiet – it seemed it was almost as impossible to have privacy here as it had been in Winterfell. But Pod's concern was very sweet, and she didn't want to prolong it any more than necessary. Just as Sansa had to her several times that day, she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Pod, I'm absolutely fine. But I'm afraid you're going to have to find yourself a new sparring partner for a while,” she dropped her free hand to her belly, a protective gesture that was already becoming instinctive, "I’m going to be out of action for… about the next seven months". He looked confused at first, but she watched as his mind worked through the meaning of her words and realisation began to dawn on his face. His eyes flicked to her hand resting on her stomach, then back up to meet hers again.

"You're... having a baby?" His tone was one of disbelief and she nodded guiltily, trying to gauge what his reaction was beyond the shock. He slowly cracked into a huge smile, although his brow remained just a touch furrowed as he gradually processed the news,

"Are you happy?” She found his question instantly touching – it reminded her how sensitive he could be, and it also forced her to consider, how did she really feel? She'd barely acknowledged it long enough to know – she’d had no time to really mull things over. Despite that, it only took her a few short seconds to answer him,

"Yes. Yes I am happy.” She returned his smile as she said it – she really was happy, in spite of everything, and the realisation sent a wave of excitement washing through her. 

"Then I’m happy for you." He shrugged off her hand and threw his arms around her – she was really surprised, but his open affection was in no way unwelcome and she found herself embracing him in return. Again, she sent a silent prayer of thanks for the love and support she'd found – she knew she would need it more than ever now. After a few moments she felt him suddenly tense, and he broke away, face filled with concern,

"When we were sparring a few weeks ago, and you fell... did I hurt the baby? I’m sorry, I never would have fought you if I'd known". He was so anxious it almost broke her heart, and she was compelled to embrace him again,

"No Pod you didn't hurt the baby. And how could you have known when I didn't even know? Well, I mean I thought maybe but... if there’s anyone to blame for my sparring when I shouldn't have done it’s me". She was rambling, but it was such a relief to finally talk about it she could barely control the words pouring out of her. And for two of the people closest to her to accept her situation, and by extension the choices she’d made, without judgement was even more of a relief. Whatever happened when they finally reached Kings Landing, at least she knew she wouldn't be entirely alone.

"So did the Maester say everything’s all right? You've been really sick".

"Well I can't say I've been feeling my best. But Samwell says the sickness should start to pass soon. Most women have to go through this at some point in their lives, I can handle it". She said it as much to convince herself as him – she was used to being recognised for her strength, but swords and shields were her comfort zone, not this. She couldn't fight this head on – she had to accept it quietly, to rest, to watch her body change in ways she couldn't control, to bring a tiny person into the world who needed her to be soft and loving, not sharp and hard. In truth she wasn't sure she could handle it at all.

"Well I know you don't need anyone to take care of you, but I’m here if you need me. For whatever you need. And when we get to Kings Landing I’m going to kick Jaime's ass". She couldn't help but laugh, not because she didn't think he could give Jaime a good beating, but because of the sweet notion that, even pregnant, she'd need her protégé to defend her her honour.

"Pod, that’s very noble of you, but even in my current condition I’m more than capable of kicking Jaime’s ass myself". Tangled between the mass of feelings in her gut, there was some small part of her that was rather looking forward to putting him on the spot. To asking him to explain why he'd chosen to leave. To seeing his face when she told him she was carrying his child. She couldn't allow her mind to linger on the fact those things may never happen.

^^^^^^^^^^

_The grey wash of first light came with the kind of fine drizzle that soaked you to the skin within seconds. Brienne hated these sort of days, the road was long and cold, the wind cutting through to your bones no matter how many layers you wore. But today it fitted her mood as she watched the dark shape of Jaime rowing back towards Riverrun through the mist._

_It hurt her heart to watch him leave – it had hurt the evening before when she and Pod had been the ones to go, but after his midnight visit, and the renewed closeness it brought between them, she could hardly bear to part from him._

_He'd cried himself to exhaustion, her arms wrapped around him as he poured out his anguish and pain. He'd been back in Kings Landing, after Myrcella’s death, but it was she he'd chosen to bring his grief to, not Cersei. She didn't know what to make of that, didn't have a word to describe what they were to each other now, but she knew what she wanted most in the world was to be with him. And the fact that wasn't possible all but crushed her._

_They'd parted awkwardly, clearly neither of them could reconcile how they wanted to say goodbye with what was appropriate; with the layers of complication that would be added to their lives if they gave in to how they really felt. So they'd hugged, stiffly, then drawn apart in silence, long seconds passing before they made their farewells._

_Then, he'd leaned in to plant a kiss on her cheek before he turned to go. It was hurried – she could tell he'd wrestled with whether to do it and finally gone with his impulse. It was over almost before she could register what was happening, it was so unexpected. Her head had been left spinning, her skin tingling from the cold breeze against her damp cheek, and the imprint of his fingers she could still feel on her arm. Part of her wished she'd been in possession of her wits enough that she'd turned her head to meet his lips with hers. Regardless, she knew she'd run the moment over in her head for weeks, playing it out a hundred different ways, and her bed would feel a little warmer for it through many nights to come._

_She saw him out of sight around a bend in the Red Fork, and then turned her attention to packing things into her saddlebags. The cold was bound to wake Pod soon enough, despite the canvases they'd strung to shield their bedrolls from the worst of the rain. She was keen to get on the road – if her memory served correctly they were only a short distance from a settlement where they could secure horses to take them North._

_A rustling in the bushes behind her put her on immediate alert. Turning sharply with her hand on the hilt of her sword, she was surprised to a very not asleep Pod making his way back towards their camp. He smiled when he saw her,_

_"Good morning". She relaxed, her hand falling away from her sword, but mentally she remained on guard. How much had he seen?_

_"Good morning. I thought you were still asleep". She glanced over at the messy heap of his bedroll, which was half out from under the canvas and rapidly becoming soaked._

_"I needed to piss". He looked sheepish, as if he felt like he'd done something wrong, and it was clear he was holding back from saying more. All hope he might not have seen Jaime was dashed – she didn't really want follow an awkward goodbye with another awkward conversation, but it seemed like she wasn't going to get a choice. She wished that for once she could find it easier to talk about her feelings, but she'd spent so much of her life building walls to hide them behind that the thought of opening up was entirely foreign to her. She was still wondering what to say next when Pod surprised her by continuing,_

_"You know you can always talk to me. About anything. If you want". His forthrightness completely disarmed her and, as she found herself doing with increasing regularity, she berated herself for not giving him more credit. He really was maturing into an sensitive young man, and she was increasingly proud of him._

_“Thank you Pod. But I’m not really sure what I want to say.” He began packing his things, relieving some of the strange tension between them. Did she really want to confess everything she was, feeling to her young protege? Or was this his way of telling her he already knew what was on her mind?_

_"But you do want to talk?" It was more of a statement than a question, and he said it nonchalantly without looking up. His casual manner did make her want to unburden herself._

_"Yes Pod, I think I do," Nervousness churned in her gut – why was it she could easily handle half a dozen armed men charging at her at once, but she was cowed by the idea of a simple conversation? "I'm going to assume by your suggestion I need to talk that you saw Ser Jaime was here". He nodded, suddenly a touch unsure – perhaps he'd expected to have to work harder to get that particular confession out of her,_

_"Yes... I did. I hope everything continued peacefully after we left? He didn't need our help any further?" Oh he could be smart when he wanted to, dancing around the issue, forcing her to be the one to explain Jaime’s presence._

_“We were of little help to begin with Pod. I merely put an idea in Ser Jaime's mind that he executed flawlessly with his own skill.” She didn't want to expand further into his chosen methods – she still admired Jaime's results even if she would have gone about things in a different manner. After all, he'd been successful where she'd failed and that was something she'd have to unpick when she had time to consider it at length, "He came here last evening because he wanted to talk". Pod raised an eyebrow, and the irony that talking was exactly what her squire was trying, and so far succeeding, in getting her to do was not lost on her. For the second time in as many days she was forced to bow to Jaime's superior wisdom._

_"To talk? About something personal?" He turned his head again then – with the last few things packed away he fiddled with buckling the bag closed. She wasn't sure if the break in eye contact was for her benefit or his, but it eased the awkwardness on them both, "Don't worry I’m not asking what. I don't want you to break his confidence or anything". She sighed,_

_"Yes, he wanted to talk about something personal". It was a testament to how much Jaime had gotten inside her head with his unexpected visit that she was so open to talking about it. It was that or remain in silence because she couldn't turn her mind to anything else._

_"And he stayed the night...?" She hadn't quite expected him to push his questioning this far – to imply what he was clearly implying. But apparently he was going to go even further than that, by just asking her right out,"Did the two of you..." Heat rushed instantly to her face,_

_"No we did not. Whatever gave you that idea?" The fact that she was about as subtle in hiding her feelings as the Mountain was with a mace. That's what had given him that idea. She thought back to the simple gesture of a raised hand she and Jaime had exchanged on departing Riverrun – simple, but definitely not subtle._

_"It’s just Bronn said... " He trailed off. She had a good idea of the type of thing Bronn would have said, and it made Pod's explicit question look as subtle as something Lord Varys might have said. She didn't want him to elaborate._

_"Yes, well, I don't think I want to know what Bronn said. Jaime and I are just... friends". She shouldn't have paused before the word friends, shouldn’t have given herself away any further, but it wasn’t close to being an adequate a way to describe their relationship. That word still eluded her._

_"But you love him?" The question threw her completely, in part because, again, she hadn't expected Pod to be so blatant, or so insightful, but mainly because she'd been rightly accused of that before, with exactly those words. Pod’s motivation for asking was, of course, quite different from Cersei's, but she was in no stronger a position to deny it now than she had been then – despite the years of separation she still felt as strongly for Jaime as she ever had,_

_"It’s of little matter. He loves another, and even if he didn't he'd hardly be interested in me". She wished she could sound less resigned, less hurt, but he’d offered her the opportunity to bear her soul and for once she was going to take it._

_"Have you not seen the way he looks at you? Exactly the way you look at him." Her heart skipped a beat in her chest. She couldn't bring herself to believe it, not him, not her, not after a whole lifetime of scorn and him such a man and so beautiful. He was honourable, and they had a history together, a shared story, that was all. You were bound to feel close to someone when you'd saved each others lives, when you'd depended on one another, "I hope you meet again one day. When this war is over"._

_She didn't know how else to respond so she merely smiled at Pod, ending the conversation by shouldering her saddlebags and turning to lead the way towards town_

^^^^^^^

Brienne had retired early, the days revelations adding to her ongoing fatigue. It was going to take time to get used to having limitations – she'd pushed herself all her life, to be stronger, to be better, always exceeding everyone's expectations. It was odd and uncomfortable to feel vulnerable.

She'd never really imagined being pregnant, never thought it would be something she'd experience. She had a new found respect for the mother she barely remembered, for Catelyn who'd carried and birthed five children, and for all women who’d been through this – husband or no husband. Now she was starting to understand how hard it was and this was just the beginning.

Thinking of Catelyn made her wonder what kind of mother she would be. She was a warrior, a fighter – what did she have to offer a child? She knew nothing about being a mother, but she knew she loved this baby and she had to hope that would be enough. From what she knew of Catelyn, it had seemed more than enough.

Her hands strayed to her belly once more. It was still small, but there was undeniably a bulge there. She couldn't imagine how she'd deceived herself for so long – she'd already had to let out the straps on her armour by three holes. Soon, she would be unable to wear it at all, and that frightened her more than anything else. Without a sword in her hand, who was she?

There was nothing she could do to change what had happened, but she couldn't help but feel this would be easier to face if she had Jaime with her. She mourned the fact that he’d been unable to share in the moment of discovering they were going to have a child. How different it would have been if he'd stayed.

She was taken again to thoughts of him lying gravely ill. It was days since she'd had the letter from Davos – who knew what condition he was in by now? She couldn't bear the thought of him being dead. But what if he lived? What then? Could they really just pick up as if nothing had ever happened? Would he want that? Did she? She loved him more than she'd ever loved anyone in her life. But he'd left her, and not just that, he'd left her pregnant. She could tell herself he didn't know that all she liked, but as Sansa had so eloquently pointed out, they hadn't been careful. He must have imagined the chance was there. Even if she could forgive him for leaving her, could she forgive him for leaving their child? And if he had known, would that have changed anything? Would he have stayed? She wondered if she'd ever get to ask him, and whether she really wanted to know the answer.

It would be another week before they got to Kings Landing. Then she would find out one way or the other. She didn't know how she'd wait that long, but at the same time even a year, two, and she wouldn't be ready to face what was to come.

She turned over and tried to quiet her racing mind enough to sleep. She battled to get Jaime out of her head, but all her thoughts would settle on was an image of him sitting beside her holding a tiny child with the fairest hair and piercing blue-green eyes.

^^^^^^^

Brienne stood at the bow rail, knees trembling. The past week had seemed to go by both interminably slowly and impossibly fast. At least Sam’s tea had worked as intended and she'd struggled much less with her nausea over the last few days, but unfortunately it could do nothing for her perpetual exhaustion.

And so, here they were, Kings Landing looming large on the horizon, and the sense of heightened anxiety she felt was mirrored by all on the ship – every one of them was facing uncertainty to a greater or lesser extent, and uncertainty was the enemy of peace of mind. Sansa had gone below deck, an hour of nervous pacing getting the better of her but, in spite of her own struggles, she'd been able to find a little reassurance for Brienne before retiring to her cabin.

So now she stood alone, watching the dockside grow larger, searching the so far indistinguishable faces for Davos. She’d dreamt of Jaime most nights since they’d parted, but these past few days the dreams had grown darker, filled with danger and lingering threat – fifty foot bears, hordes of the dead and Cersei’s looming face everywhere she turned. Jaime had been there, but his image was hazy and out of her reach. It had left her with a knot of fear in her stomach, and an unshakeable sense of foreboding. She tried not to read too much into it, but it had become increasingly difficult to hope for the best.

The faces massed at the dock gradually became clearer and she spotted Davos at last. Confronted by the presence of the person she'd sought desperately moments before she felt a wave of intense fear and she stepped away, resuming Sansa's pacing on her behalf; wanting to delay as long as possible the moment she saw if the expression on his face was one of joy or sorrow.

But she could only turn away from inevitability for so long – soon enough they had docked and the gangway was lowered. She kept her eyes fixed away from where Davos was standing – walking beside Sansa, their arms softly interlocked so each could give the other unspoken but much needed support.

She was forced to finally meet Davos' eyes when they drew level with him – she'd been mistaken in expecting to read the news from his face; his expression was masterfully flat, a well practiced skill from his many years as a smuggler no doubt. Her heart hammered in her chest. Then, he gave himself away, his eyes dropping for a split second before meeting hers with cold intensity.

"I’m so sorry. Ser Jaime died two days ago". The world seemed to blur as her knees gave way beneath her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I *promise* this is still a fix it fic, but for this to stay canon compliant it has to go a certain way until we’re past specific things that happened on the show. This is the low point and it will get better from here!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with me up to now, I appreciate all your support and comments so much. I know I’m not the fastest writer in the world but I am committed to finishing this and I hope you enjoy everything that’s to come (spoiler alert, there’s quite a few more chapters yet).


	16. My Immortal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Really, really is still a Braime fix it, honest. Just... bear with me.**
> 
> Song for this Chapter is “My Immortal” by Evanescence
> 
> “If you have to leave  
> I wish that you would just leave  
> ‘Cause your presence still lingers here  
> And it won’t leave me alone
> 
> When you cried, I’d wipe away all of your tears  
> You’d scream, I’d fight away all of your fears  
> I held your hand through all of these years  
> But you still have all of me”

Brienne sat silently on her chair between Sansa and Davos under a blue sky with the sun beating relentlessly down. They were partially shielded from the heat by the canvas shade over the Dragonpit’s dais, but she still felt as if she was slowly cooking sitting there in her too tight armour, growing increasingly lightheaded. 

This was likely the most important gathering she'd ever been, or ever would be, party to and so she made herself listen to the discussions on the fate of Jon Snow, and who would be the next ruler of Westeros. Sansa had been her unwavering source of support for many weeks now, and today she needed her sworn sword to be there for her – Brienne was determined to make that happen, despite her preoccupied mind and the heavy weight crushing her heart. 

She would not allow her own personal mess get in the way of the oath she'd made to Lady Catelyn. She'd allowed herself her moment to break down, and now she had to move forward – she herself had been the one to tell Jaime he couldn't quit when he lost his hand, and she had to live by her own convictions. Besides, she had the woman she was sworn to, and an unborn child, who were relying on her now.

But that moment of breakdown had been exactly that, howling out her anguish on the dockside – her heart shattering for her lost love. Why? Why had he gone back to Cersei just to die? And why had the gods let him live, just for him to slip away mere hours before she'd arrived? The hopelessly romantic part of her that believed the stories, and which had got her into this mess in the first place, also believed if she'd just been here there was something she could have done to save him. That just by hearing her voice, he would have rallied – opened his sea green eyes and allowed her to drown in them once more. But that wasn't to be, and it felt so unfair. Of course, she knew there was nothing fair about life, about this world, but having him survive Daenerys’ attack just to be snatched away again seemed particularly so.

Sansa and Davos had pulled her to her feet and bundled her to somewhere more private where she could recover her wits; Pod rushing along close behind. She remembered little of the next hour or so after that, surrounded by cargo crates, her mind consumed with the immediacy of grief. The only recollection that stuck in her mind was a whispered conversation somewhere above her slumped head which contained the words 'she's carrying his child’. It made her feel every bit the weak, feeble woman she knew her behaviour caused her to appear, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

Once the tears came no more, she found the steely resolve she'd lost touch with too often lately, and she used it to build a wall around her heart – one which it would take something monumental to breach. Her life was to be one of duty from here on out, and she knew in time she could make peace with that. After all, she'd believed that was all it would be for most of her days, and she'd been satisfied. She would reserve all the love she shielded from the world for the child that was to come, and beyond that she would not risk her heart again. Doing so only led to pain.

So, she engaged her mind on proceedings as fully as she was able, her eyes straying numerous times to Tyrion standing before them. His gaze met hers more than once, and she could see the depth of her sorrow reflected there. He was probably the only person in the Seven Kingdoms who loved Jaime as much as she had, and she took some small solace in their shared grief. She hoped once matters were resolved here they would get some time to talk, even though she would hardly know where to begin.

Despite the protests of Grey Worm it was determined Jon's life be spared, although he would be sent back to The Wall. She glanced over at Sansa – the relief that her brother need not die was rolling off her, and Brienne was glad her family wasn't forced to endure any further loss, although immediate relief masked any thought of the painful parting that would inevitably follow.

Then, their new king was chosen, and she joined the rest of those assembled in giving her ascent. There was an air of hope about them, hope that years of war were really ended, and they had chosen someone to lead them who would be just, and wise. She’d been shocked by the extent of damage the city had endured – it would take time and care to rebuild, not just buildings but people’s lives. That had to begin with faith in those in charge.

And of course, the newly renamed Six Kingdoms were not the only part of Westeros that had gained a new leader today – Sansa would become Queen in the North, a role that she had, in reality, fulfilled for some time already, but was now ratified and recognised by all present.

After that the gathering broke apart and Tyrion, in his first duty as Hand, was dispatched to inform Jon of his fate – he shot her an understanding half-smile as he turned to leave. Sansa then begged some time to speak privately with her brother, and Brienne stood slowly to leave, conscious of her light headedness and not wishing to make a further spectacle by fainting. She'd only taken a few steps before the King’s voice rang out behind her,

"Ser Brienne, I should like a few moments of your time once I've finished talking to my sister." She turned, again carefully, and nodded in a manner she hoped came across as adequately respectful,

"Of course, your Grace". She tried to imagine what King Bran could possibly want from her, likely something about taking care of his sister once they were back in the North and Sansa... Queen Sansa had a whole kingdom to be fully responsible for. She was not certain whether he was aware of her circumstances, although his uncanny abilities seemed to mean he was aware of many things without having to be told. In any case, she would continue to serve his family as well the inevitable limitations of her condition would allow.

"Ser Davos, you have been in Kings Landing for several weeks, could you find some accommodations for Ser Brienne so she can make herself comfortable? I will make my way to the Red Keep once I am finished here".

"As you wish, your Grace". Davos smiled at her, his smuggler’s skills again hiding any opinions he may have on her earlier loss of dignity, and gestured for her to go before him out of the Dragonpit.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Brienne had spent very little time in the Red Keep – in truth she'd spent very little time in Kings Landing. She'd been here briefly around Joffrey’s ill-fated wedding, and again for an even shorter time when they'd tried and failed to persuade Cersei to bring her armies North and help fight the dead. 

Both of those visits, and consequently every brick and stone of this place, were filled with memories of Jaime. To compound this, the quarters Davos had secured for her were in the White Sword Tower, where Jaime had armed and armoured her before sending her after the Stark girls – one of the most cherished of all her memories. It was also, of course, where he had lived for many years, and his presence was so strong here she almost expected to turn and see him walking through the door.

At first, she found the feeling disconcerting and frankly distressing. But by the time she'd changed out of her armour and had a cool, refreshing wash, it had settled on her. It was almost as if a part of him still lingered here, and the feeling he wasn't completely gone went some small way towards comforting her.

She took the opportunity whilst waiting for the Starks to arrive to have a lie down – it was a relief to rest after the oppressive heat of the Dragonpit and, thankfully, within the stone walls of the tower it was much cooler. The hazy feeling she’d had gradually passed, and she allowed her eyes to close. Time to rest without the constant rocking of the sea was a relief, and it was peaceful here, whereas on the boat there had always been noise of some sort, day or night. 

She had only been laying back for a few minutes before she felt herself drifting off. That was when there was a light tapping at the door. She sat up quickly, and brushed down her clothes to try and make herself look presentable. She felt a slight head rush, so chose to shuffle over and perch on the edge of the bed, rather than take the risk of standing,

"Come in". She fully expected a servant or message runner to be on the other side, but when the door opened, it was the King himself, being pushed into the room by Sansa. She immediately made to stand, but he lifted his hand to indicate she remain seated. She compromised with a sharp nod as she sunk back onto the bed.

Sansa left his chair halfway between the door and the bed, then smiled at Brienne before leaving the room and closing the door behind her. Bran regarded Brienne with the same expressionless look he always seemed to bear, and she brushed her hands over the bottom of her tunic once more in a vain attempt to straighten out the creases – nerves made her painfully aware of how under-dressed she was for this audience.

"I trust you've had a little time to rest – I know you had some unwelcome news on our arrival." She should be used to his abruptness by now, but she was still taken aback by it. In many ways, it was fitting he be here on this day given he'd also witnessed the immediate aftermath of Jaime's leaving Winterfell. Such moments may barely qualify as footnotes in the annuls of history, but they were monumental to her, and Bran’s being there to see them made her life feel more worthy, for all its pain.

“I am... somewhat recovered, thank you your Grace. I believe it will take quite some time for the reality to fully sink in, but I am resolved to focus on my duties". Her words made it sound so easy, but she knew full well the reality was going to be far, far harder – and she was certain he also knew that despite his dispassionate nature.

“That is good to hear.” He began looking around the room, lost in some distant thought, and appeared in no hurry to reveal the reason behind his desire to speak with her, "It is rather strange this is the room Davos found for you. Aside from the fact it's on a lower floor so I'm easily able to visit you here, this was once Ser Jaime’s room". Brienne felt the strangest shiver down her back at his words, and she was compelled to turn her head sharply, almost as if she expected to see someone else in the room. Of course, there was no one there, but she was glad when she turned back to her new king again, that there would be no teasing for her folly.

"I... had not realised". She found herself wondering if the feelings of closeness she'd had towards Jaime were because he really was still present here. If that were true, it would mean believing things she'd always dismissed as folklore and superstition, but then she had fought against an army of dead men, alongside a force fronted by dragons. She’d been forced to reassess many of her beliefs recently – why should this be any different?

"It is most fortuitous really – you will not need to move your things very far". She wasn't sure if he intended her to respond, to ask him his meaning, or if he'd done what he sometimes did and forgotten to explain himself, assuming she already knew. Either way he read the confusion from her face and continued,

"I came here to make a request of you. I wish you to become Lord Commander of my Kingsguard". She was stunned, and not just by his abruptness this time. In many ways she still hadn't entirely gotten used to being a knight, an ambition she'd long held dear but never expected to realise – this was more than she could ever have dreamed. It would pain her deeply to have to refuse.

"I cannot express how honoured I am, but I’m afraid it is impossible for me to accept. I would be neither capable, nor of the requisite moral standing to take up that mantle – I am with child your Grace". She watched for a reaction, some glimmer of shock or disgust. There was nothing.

“I am aware”. Once again she was met with simple acceptance. Was he really saying he still wanted her in one of his most trusted positions regardless? “You needn't worry – all necessary accommodations will be made for your condition. Indeed, quite aside from there being no better person in all Westeros for the role, that is one of my many reasons for appointing you. You have served my family tirelessly for many years Ser Brienne. Now you must allow us to take care of you – and your child.” 

She didn't just have no idea how to respond, she was quite literally struck dumb by his words, her mouth gaping open. She had never imagined such generosity – all she'd done was perform her duty to his mother to the best of her ability, and with varying success, in the same way many thousands of sworn swords had done over countless years. There was nothing so very special about that. It was a bittersweet moment – to be elevated far beyond even her own lofty ambition, at the same time as losing the man she’d hoped to spend her life with – the father of her child; she was so overwhelmed with conflicting emotions she had no idea how to feel. She was also not ignorant of the fact that if she’d been to marry Jaime, she would never have been able to become Lord Commander. It was little consolation. After several long minutes wading through the mass of thoughts and feelings, eventually she recovered her voice,

“Thank you, your Grace. I do not know how to adequately express my gratitude – your favour is more than I could ever be deserving of. I am, however, currently pledged to your sister – of course your Grace's wishes are foremost, but it would be only right of me to discuss the matter with her and seek her consent to release me".

“As you wish. Although my sister is already aware of my request and in agreement that it would be the right thing for you to remain here when she returns to the North. Having said that your desire to do things the correct way is exactly what I would expect from you.”

“In that case I shall humbly accept.” She did rise from the bed then, and knelt before him, “I am afraid I do not have my sword to hand, nor am I dressed for the occasion, but I hope you will accept my fealty nonetheless".

“I will. You shall have a proper swearing in ceremony in due course, but for now I will not take up any more of your time. I am certain you are eager to talk with my sister, and after that I believe there is another who very much wishes your ear.” He called for Sansa, and this time she entered the room with a servant who walked over to assist him out of the door. Brienne supposed she would get used to his cryptic comments in time, pushing thoughts of who he could mean to the back of her mind as she turned her attention to Sansa.

“Are you feeling well enough for a stroll about the gardens? I prefer to walk and talk when the opportunity presents itself, and I shall be glad to enjoy the place now I finally feel welcome here.” Brienne nodded, and after shrugging into a comfortable but at least presentable doublet she accepted Sansa’s offered arm.

^^^^^^^^^^

It was still unbearably hot but thankfully Sansa, as a North woman, was no greater fan of the heat than Brienne, and had suggested they take their walk in the godswood where there was plenty of shade. They ambled slowly beneath the trees enjoying the cool and the sea air. Brienne was not entirely sure how to begin the conversation, and Sansa did not press her – both seemed content to enjoy quiet reflective time together conscious that, although they had not yet discussed it, their companionship would soon be at an end. After half an hour or so, it was Sansa who finally turned to Brienne, taking both the blonde woman's hands in hers,

“I want to give you my most heartfelt congratulations on your promotion. I am certain you will excel in your new role”. It was an oddly formal choice of words, ill-fitting with the affectionate contact – a sign perhaps that she had no better idea how to have this conversation than Brienne did.

“I am flattered you have so much confidence in me, my Lady... your Grace". It seemed there were new titles for everyone today, and they didn’t all trip off the tongue just yet.

“My Lady will do just fine. It will take me a while to get used to your Grace". Brienne smiled, heartened she wasn’t the only one struggling with all the changes,

"I imagine it will take me just as long to get used to Lord Commander – although I'm sure it won't take long at all for someone to suggest it should be Lady Commander. The first one who does will become fast familiar with the pointy end of my sword". Sansa laughed,

"I wouldn't expect anything else. You never did like being called a Lady".

“That’s because I never felt like one. I knew from a very young age that I was destined for something else”.

"Much like my sister. The two of you are strikingly similar in many ways."

"So it would seem. I regret that I have not had the chance to get to know her better. Although I much enjoyed sparring with her that one time. She is a proficient fighter, albeit of a very different style to myself".

"And she's a lot shorter". This time it was Brienne's turn to laugh.

"Indeed my Lady. But then so are most people". The conversation stalled a little then, the banter petering out and reminding them both this was not just a simple chat between friends. She was loathe to turn the conversation to formal matters again after their lighthearted exchange, but it had to be done, so she forced herself to continue – resuming their gentle stroll along the winding paths of the godswood in the hope it would make saying what needed to be said easier.

"I’m aware your brother has already sought your permission to release me from your service, but honour demands I make the request myself." She felt nervous, even knowing as she did that Sansa would not refuse – but partly wishing she would so they could remain together.

“Of course. And I accept your request but only, I must make clear, with a heavy heart. However, I must not be selfish – my brother's need of you is greater than mine. The allegiance of the North to a Stark queen is assured. In the early days of his reign, Bran will need people he can trust at his side, and I cannot think of anyone outside his family he can trust with more certainty than you”.

"I thank you my lady. It is also with regret that I ask it of you. If there was a way for me to continue serving your whole family I would do so in a heartbeat".

“You will still be serving my whole family. I will sleep easier at night knowing you are here to watch over him. Besides, Bran tells me he feels the right place for you to be is here, and I have learnt to trust his feelings.”

“I believe I am also coming to that conclusion." She paused, finding herself staring off into the distance for a few moments, "For the first time in many years I find myself feeling positive for the future of this world. There’s a lot of rebuilding to do – homes, lives, allegiances, faith. With you and your brother in charge – Westeros couldn’t be in better hands. You will be a truly excellent queen.”

“I am certainly going to do my best", Sansa sighed, deeply, "l’m really going to miss you. I’ve been trying to work out how best to say it - I don’t want you to feel bad in any way about remaining here.” Brienne could hear the quavering in Sansa’s voice, and tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away.

“I'm going to miss you too. I know you'll be very busy, ruling a kingdom, but you will find time to write?” The reality of their parting was beginning to sink in – and with it the true realisation of how much she’d come to rely on Sansa. Watching her leave was going to be immeasurably hard.

“Of course! I shall want to hear from you too, very often. I want to be kept up to date with everything, from boring political discussions to the goings on of the court, but most of all how you are - how big you’re growing and when the baby comes. Although I suspect you'll be even busier than I am, with a King to guard *and* a baby.” She was right of course. The idea of ruling a kingdom suddenly seemed like it would be less daunting than what she had to face.

“I have no idea how I'm going to juggle things to be honest – but I’m sure I’ll figure it out. I guess I don’t really have much choice after all”. Sansa's eyes dropped for a moment, and when they looked into hers again they were filled with sorrow.

"I’m so sorry… about Jaime". Brienne nodded, fighting tears again, keeping her eyes down to try and hold herself together. As much as she would miss Sansa, and had not relished the idea of discussing their parting, this was the part of the conversation she'd dreaded the most,

“Thank you – I know you are. I don't think it's really hit me yet that he’s gone. This place feels so full of his essence... I don't know whether that's a good or a bad thing. I'm running on a healthy dose of denial at the moment”. One tear got away from her and rolled defiantly down her cheek - Sansa lifted a hand to gently brush it away.

"It must be so hard. I've lost people but... I can't imagine". Brienne felt sure Sansa was intimately familiar with the pain she was going through, perhaps she hadn’t lost a lover, but she’d lost enough to know.

“I just feel like there's something I should have done, that I should have said differently. I never told him I love him... I hope he knew it, but I never said the words. I should have gone after him". She’d thought about it for days afterwards, just getting on a horse and galloping in his wake. But she would never leave Sansa like that, and he knew it damn him, DAMN HIM!

"You're the last person to blame. This is all on him – his actions, his choice. You've nothing to feel guilty for". She was right of course, Brienne knew in her heart there was nothing she could have done to change things, but here she was left with so much anger and nowhere to direct it – Jaime was gone and Cersei was gone so the only person left to blame was herself.

“He told me he was hateful. Just like his sister. But even after everything I can't believe that. Nothing's more hateful than failing to protect the one you love. And I failed to protect him. Just like I did with Renly.”

"But just think about everything you have succeeded in protecting. There was nothing you could have done to protect Jaime from Cersei, or from himself. He was set on a destructive course long before he met you – you helped him do a lot of good he never would have done otherwise, and you should hold on to that".

“I guess it doesn't make much difference now. I just need to make sure it never happens again.” 

"It won't.” Sansa was right it wouldn’t happen again, because she had no intention of allowing love to blind her from her duty like she’d done in the past. “Now the war is over, you'll be taken care of as well. My brother will make sure of that. Besides, you'll be much closer to home again, and your father. I’m sure he'll want to watch his grandchild grow up". Mention of her father set Brienne to wondering how he would react when she told him she was pregnant. She hadn't really thought about that yet – she was certain he'd be pleased she was finally continuing the family line, but as to the circumstances, and the father...

"I'm sure he will, once he's gotten over the shock of my bringing home a bastard to inherit his seat". Her words sounded harsh, even to her own ears but, much like Tyrion, she’d learnt over the years the best way to defend against your perceived flaws was to own them.

“He's well known as a generous man, and he loves you. Besides, you're his daughter not his son – at least he can be certain the child is yours.” Brienne snorted – trust Sansa to meet her bitterness with levity.

"Well I can't argue with that".

“And I’m sure Tyrion will want to take just as good care of you – you're family now and he believes he has no family left. I'd love to see his face when you tell him his going to be an uncle again”. She’d thought about consoling with Tyrion over Jaime, but she hadn’t really considered the idea of an ongoing relationship with him, or that he would want one with her child. Since they were both going to be remaining in Kings Landing now, that would be much more possible.

“I guess we are family. He seems like a good man”.

“He's the only one who treated me kindly when I was here. Well, aside from Littlefinger but the least said about him the better. You know Tyrion and I were wed? Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like if we'd stayed married.” Brienne read the wistful look in her eyes,

“You care for him”. It was a statement mostly, but Sansa's lack of comment confirmed it, “You're certainly well matched in intellect. I’m sure you'd have many spirited discussions. I’ve discovered regular verbal sparring is an excellent basis for a relationship". Sansa laughed,

"You may be right. But our destinies lie at opposite ends of the world so I guess we'll never find out. And I'm at peace with that. I'm not sure I ever want to marry again". 

“You’re still young – in a few years time you might feel differently. Or when you meet some dashingly handsome young Northman.”

“I’ve learnt not to allow handsomeness to blind me. But I’m not averse to the idea of looking.”

“Of course. And if you do find a young man, he’d better treat you impeccably or I’ll be riding North to beat the life out of him.” Sansa smiled warmly,

“Thank you… for everything. I should have trusted you far sooner – listened to you about Littlefinger. It would have saved me a lot of pain.”

“I wish I’d been more convincing, more able to persuade you. But you were young and you had no reason to trust me. He’d taken care of you up to then, or so you thought. I suppose I should be the one berating *you* for blaming yourself and what-ifs now. What he took you into… in no leap of imagination could you ever be to blame for that. I’m just sorry I couldn’t protect you from it – but it’s neither of our faults.”

“You’re right of course – but then you usually are. My brother will have an excellent advisor as well as a protector”.

“I shall do my very best to serve him in whatever capacity he needs me. It’s what I promised to do for your mother and she entrusted me the task of keeping you and your sister safe. I am certain she would want that extending to your brother also.” She paused for a few moments, her mind wandering back over everything that had happened since she’d fled Renly’s tent with Lady Catelyn, “I never imagined, when I swore myself to your mother’s service, where that would lead me. If it wasn’t for her I would never have met you… or Jaime. I can’t imagine what my life would be now, aside from that it would be very different. Your mother was a good woman, and she loved you and your siblings with a fierceness I can only aspire to. I’m so sorry she was another casualty in this god awful war, and I hope I can be even a fraction as good a mother as she was”.

“I think you will be a wonderful mother. You’ve been my faithful protector, and look at what an excellent young man Pod is becoming. Much of that is down to your influence”.

“I hope you’re right. I certainly intend to do my best”

“That’s all you can do, and all anyone can expect.” She turned them on a path towards the Keep, “We should be getting back, I’d love nothing more than to walk and talk with you all day, but I promised my brother I would join him for lunch and you mustn’t get too tired.” Brienne was about to protest that she was fine, but now Sansa drew her attention to it she couldn’t help but yawn, and became very aware of the aching in her back and legs. The idea of another lie down suddenly sounded very attractive.

They made their way back up to the terrace, pausing on the steps of the White Sword Tower to embrace with teary eyes, and a promise to make more time to talk before Sansa had to leave. They were about to part ways when Brienne spotted Tyrion sitting on the steps a short way from the door, clearly waiting for them to finish. As Sansa turned, Brienne bowed her head to him,

“My Lord Hand, may I be of service?”

“I have been awaiting your audience, Ser Brienne, if it please you”. Brienne made to reply but Sansa cut in,

“I believe you mean Lord Commander”. There was a playful tone to her mild scolding – it was unlikely the King had yet informed Tyrion about her new position, but Brienne also sensed a hint of pride in Sansa’s words which was very touching.

“I beg your pardon, Lord Commander, I was unaware. Congratulations on your appointment”.

“Thank you. And I would also very much like to speak with you. I believe we have much to talk about”.

“We do. But first I have a duty to perform.” He paused, head bowed, clearly wrestling with how to say whatever he had on his mind. When he raised his eyes to hers, they were filled with tears, “I asked for Jaime’s body be brought to the Keep. I am going to see him and I came to ask if you wish to join me?”

Brienne’s heart felt as if it froze solid in her chest. Doing this would mean really facing up to the fact that he was gone and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for that yet.


	17. The Next Right Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I poured my soul into this chapter. I hope you all like it ❤️
> 
> Song is “The Next Right Thing” from Frozen II
> 
> “I won’t look too far ahead  
> It’s too much for me to take  
> But break it down to this next breath  
> This next step  
> This next choice is one that I can make
> 
> So I’ll walk through this night  
> Stumbling blindly toward the light  
> And with the dawn, what comes then  
> When it’s clear that everything will never be the same again?  
> Then I’ll make the choice  
> To hear that voice  
> And do the next right thing”

The temperature noticeably dropped as Brienne followed Tyrion down the steps to a chamber below the Tower of the Hand. She hadn't known this room was here, although she knew there must be many secret rooms and passages within the Red Keep, and she supposed she would become more familiar with them in her new role. Of course, much of the Keep was damaged, hence Tyrion had asked for Jaime to be brought here. Once upon a time he would have lain in the Great Sept of Baelor, before Cersei had destroyed it – consequently there was no crypt in the keep itself.

They reached a heavy wooden door at the bottom of the narrow staircase – Tyrion shouldered it open and stepped down a further couple of steps into the antechamber below. Brienne hung back for a few moments, fear gripping her once more, before she forced herself onwards. Fear had become her familiar companion lately but she would not allow it to rule her, whatever came, and this was something she had to face, regardless of how much her instincts were telling her to turn and run.

The antechamber was fairly dark, lit only by a single pair of sconces on the far wall. There was no door through into the main chamber, just a doorway framed by thick walls, but it was at the far left hand side of the room so Brienne couldn't see through into the chamber itself. Tyrion looked back at her – his face betraying all. He was no more ready for this than she was. 

He held out a hand – it was a profound gesture in the moment; a wordless invitation for her to share in his grief. She took it, the difference in their heights forcing her to stoop a little and he to reach, but it didn’t matter to either of them. They moved forward as one, the doorway wide enough to admit them side by side, and as they took the single step down it felt like dropping into an abyss. The main chamber was slightly more illuminated, but the light was still soft and flickering. Jaime was laying on a stone table at the far side of the room. 

The first thing that struck her was how peaceful he looked - she was used to seeing death on the battlefield where it was all blood, guts and pain. Jaime looked as if he was merely asleep and could wake at any moment. Someone in the house of healing had shaved his beard, and the merest hint of stubble shadowed his features. His hair, however, they hadn't chosen to cut – it had grown longer in the weeks since she'd seen him and now fell softly almost to his shoulders, freshly washed and fair as fair in the torchlight, rather than the dirty blond she’d come to know so well. The Golden Lion of Lannister. He really looked it, lying there in repose; startlingly beautiful. It seemed impossible to her that he was no longer alive.

Of all the hundreds of scenarios she’d played out in her mind over the past weeks, standing here confronted with him dead and cold was not one of them. Her mind had clearly desired to protect her from that thought, but now she wondered if that had been for the best. Maybe she’d have been more prepared, but she wasn’t sure anything could have prepared her for the reality of him lying there. It froze her to the spot, unable to either move forward to his side or retreat to the other room where she might somehow remember how to breathe. Her fingers hovered over her belly, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch it; how could she even begin to accept the truth with his baby growing inside her? It was too much.

Tyrion was equally stunned. She could read it in the stiffness of his gait as he stepped up to the table, releasing her hand as he did so. She didn’t know if seconds, minutes or indeed hours passed as she stood in a hazy trance watching the soft curls on the back of his head shake as he cried for the loss of his brother; his protector. Jaime had talked about Tyrion often and she’d seen the love he held for him shine in his eyes. From what she read into what he told her, they’d been all each other really had. Jaime’d had Cersei of course, but… had he really? Had she ever been his champion in the way he had been hers, body and soul? Her eyes were drawn back to Jaime’s face.

_I was your champion. I would have followed you to the ends of the earth, if you’d let me. Why didn’t you see it? Why couldn’t I reach you?_ She wished she could ask him. Then maybe, somehow, she could begin to understand. To have some small inkling of why he’d chosen death over their future, together.

She knew Tyrion had spoken, had said several things in fact, but she had no idea what any of them were or even if they were addressed to her. Her ears were buzzing and he seemed very quiet and distant. Whatever he’d said, he moved away – he didn’t make eye contact and she honestly wasn’t sure she’d be able to focus on him if he had. He retreated to the doorway and sat on the step, arms resting on his knees and head in his hands. There was nothing left now to prevent her moving forward aside from her own reluctance.

She stepped slowly up to Jaime's side, feeling shy almost; wishing he could make a joke or throw an insult at her to break the tension, but that would not be. She could see now she stood beside him how pale he was – all the colour had drained from his face. She wanted desperately to touch him, but she was afraid of how his skin would feel; that the spell keeping him alive in her mind would be broken. A part of her even wanted to climb up there beside him, to press her body to his and remain there; to close her eyes, melt into him and forget this world. But she couldn't allow herself that indulgence.

She felt suddenly desperate to memorise every inch of his face, terrified that through the long years to come she would forget what he looked like – that his beauty would fade into the fog of memory. She wanted to remember everything – and not just for herself, but to pass on. What would she say to make him real to his child; the child that would never know him? How could she capture that much wit, grace and spirit in mere words? She had to find a way – she owed it to their child, their beautiful child, for how could someone who was half of him not be beautiful, in spite of who its mother was? She knew, intimately, what it would mean to Jaime to get to be a father, and the fact that he was going to be denied that one final time broke what little remained of her heart.

"Jaime, I love you. I need you. Please don't leave me". She finally touched him then – he was cold, ice cold like the wights at Winterfell on their endless tide of death. It didn't stop her taking hold of his hand and placing it on her belly, "we're having a baby". Out of the corner of her eye she saw Tyrion, who had looked up when she spoke, turn his head at her words, his eyes closing with a pained sigh. 

It wasn't how she'd planned on him finding out, but in all honesty it had slipped her mind that he was there. At least now there would be an easy beginning to the long conversation they'd need to have once they left here. But for now she was too consumed with her final moments with Jaime to worry about it.

No. She refused to believe that’s what these long painful minutes were; minutes that at the same time felt impossibly short. This couldn't be the last time she would see him. She couldn't let him go. She held his hand to her belly, hoping, praying somehow this was all a bad dream, a terrible mistake. The tears streamed down her face, as the supplications to any god that cared to listen followed. 

She would do anything, anything she promised them if they would just send him back to her. She didn't even know half of what she said, but she begged and pleaded with everything she had. Her fear of touching him gone, she kissed his face, not caring any more how foolish she looked or how weak. After everything they'd been through – months alone together on the road, his hand, the bear, Riverrun, winning the battle of Winterfell against impossible odds, finally giving in to their feelings. She simply refused to believe it could end like this.

Finally, after she'd collapsed over him, body heaving with wracking sobs, Tyrion came over and gently coaxed her away.

"Come on. Come away now. Come sit with me and take a drink." It took him several minutes, but eventually he persuaded her to turn, and she looked for the first time into his tear-stained face. Their shared grief hung thick in the air. His attempts to get her to leave were less effective – she couldn’t walk away from Jaime knowing it was the last time. She just couldn’t do it, and Tyrion read it in her eyes,

“I know. Believe me - I know. But you can’t stay here. He’s gone”. The tears welled in his eyes again, and she wished she knew what to tell him.

“I can’t. I’m not ready. Not yet”. A startlingly clear image flashed through her mind, unbidden, and she spoke the next words before she really registered what she was asking, “Can we bring him to the White Sword Tower? I want to be close to him. Just this one night”. He stared at her incredulously, as disbelieving of what she’d just asked as she was herself, but something in the wildness of her gaze washed the refusal from his lips. He sighed,

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this, but all right. Just for tonight, if that’s what you need. But then he’ll go to Casterley Rock”. She nodded, relief and gratitude flooding her. He gestured then for her to go before him out of the room, and he led the way from the antechamber back up the stairs, checking every few steps that she was still following him.

The staircase was long, and spiralled upwards seemingly without end. She felt herself growing out of breath with the exertion, cursing once more the way her condition sapped her strength, making her feel weak and vulnerable.

She gripped the door frame as she ascended the final step into Tyrion’s solar. She felt a shade lightheaded, less so than she frequently had over the past couple of months, but still enough to make her feel unsteady. If Tyrion noticed he did a good job of hiding it – he pulled out a chair for her to sit down, which she accepted gratefully. 

He didn't join her straightaway, moving around the table to rummage in a drinks cabinet on the far wall. He retrieved a decanter of what appeared to be wine and two glasses, tipping a mouthful into one glass and placing the other on the table. He swigged it down, looking thoughtful, then said,

“Mmm, not bad. Not Dornish but it'll do". He placed his glass down beside the first and filled it – then he regarded her quizzically for a moment before placing the decanter down.

"Apologies if I'm being presumptuous, but I’m going to assume you're not currently drinking wine. Although I'd fully understand if you needed a glass after..." he trailed off, dipping his eyes momentarily but not long enough ease the pressure she felt for a response.

"I am not. But thank you". He nodded, curtly,

"Right then. Give me a moment". He turned back to the drinks cabinet and a series of clinks and thuds followed. She fidgeted in her chair, unsure what to expect from the upcoming conversation, from this man she’d heard so much of but in truth barely knew. After several minutes, he returned with a tall cloudy bottle. Again, he poured a little and tasted it before appearing satisfied.

"Apple juice? I’m sorry, I haven't had chance to get properly moved in here yet, but at least it seems Qyburn left us some reasonable beverages. You must come and have proper drinks with me in a few days". She generally didn't care much for the sweetness of fruit juices, preferring tea or just water, but she didn't want to dismiss his efforts. Besides, the sugar would probably do her good after the day she’d had.

"Apple juice is perfect". He filled her glass and pushed it across the table towards her, before finally taking a seat. His eyes seemed to pierce into her, even as he took a deep swig from his glass. She was not even remotely prepared for this, but she still hoped he would speak first as she had no idea what she'd say. He didn't disappoint.

“So, you're carrying my brother's child.” It was a simple statement, wholly without accusation, but she could feel the weight of his sadness behind it. He knew as well as she did what this baby would have meant to Jaime.

"Guilty as charged". She realised then, for the first time, the guilt she did feel for her decisions. There would never be any regret over choosing to surrender her maidenhood to Jaime, but she still felt guilt at her recklessness, at the inevitable burden she had placed on her now fatherless child. She loved that tiny life more than anything, and she would do whatever she could to protect it. She hoped it would not grow up to resent her for not refusing him until he agreed to marry her.

"And you’re well I trust?” If Tyrion read anything of the weight behind her words, he gave no sign of it.

"I am. I mean I've been quite nauseous, although that seems to be passing now, and I’m permanently exhausted. But nothing beyond the usual pregnancy gripes". It struck her as she opened up to him how much his manner put her at ease. 

"Good. I'm glad to hear that". He took another swig from his glass as she did the same, “Does the King know?” 

“He does. I told him when he asked me to be Lord Commander, but he already knew. I don’t know if Sansa told him or… well you know how he is”. He nodded,

“And he still wanted you for the position? Interesting”. 

“Believe me, I was just as surprised. There I was telling him I’d have to turn down the greatest honour of my life, and he knew before he even offered it to me”.

“I wouldn’t be that surprised. The Starks think very highly of you, and rightly so”. He paused, but it was clear he had more to say. When he continued, his eyebrows were raised and head tilted to one side appraisingly, “But what he was offering wasn’t the greatest honour of your life. I mean, it was an honour of course, but the greatest honour of your life was when my brother knighted you. I could see it in your eyes”. His perceptiveness stunned her; she knew she’d allowed the raw emotion of that night to leave her unguarded, but nonetheless how had he seen to the heart of her so completely? She’d heard much about his brilliant mind, but now she was seeing for herself his uncanny ability to read people. 

“All I ever really wanted for a long time was to be a knight. A real knight. But I’d made peace with the fact it was never going to happen”.

“Then it did. And Jaime being the one to give that to you was the icing on the cake”. He placed his glass on the table and wrung his hands a little nervously as he regarded her, "He really loved you, you know. I'm not sure if that’s what you want or need to hear right now, but I just felt I should say it." A part of her felt she should try and be gracious, but she didn't have it in her, and feigned politeness didn't seem necessary or even appropriate. They were family after all, as Sansa had pointed out to her, and family didn't stand on ceremony.

"You'll forgive me if I have a hard time believing that". He didn't seem fazed by her response, as if it was exactly what he’d expected.

"I can understand you feeling that way. But you should know I've never seen him as happy as he was after the two of you were together that first night. Really, truly happy. I'm so glad he had that, however briefly".

"If that’s true, then why did he leave?" If there was anyone who had even a shade of insight into the answer to that burning question, it was him.

“I don't know. Well, not exactly anyway – and I'm not going to make any excuses for him. But the hold Cersei had over him... I've never seen anything like it. It didn't matter what she did, what she made him do or anything I had to say. It was like he was under a spell, always had been, ever since we were children. Perhaps if our mother had lived, it would have been different. Things might not have happened that drove him into Cersei’s arms…” He paused, briefly, wrestling with some difficult emotion. When he continued, his voice was sombre, and muted, “Our father used to beat him – I don't know if he ever told you that?” Brienne felt cold, hearing the truth about Jaime's painful formative years. He'd never talked about his childhood, but the revelation didn't surprise her. He'd always seemed in awe of his father, and she'd sensed there was fear there behind the respect. Now she understood why.

"He didn't. The only family he ever really talked about was you". Tyrion smiled weakly,

"Well I'd hardly have expected him to be telling you all about Cersei." He took another swig of wine, placing down the glass again fingering it lightly, "There's something else I don't know if you knew. Cersei was pregnant". A cold shiver passed down Brienne’s spine. It wasn’t an easy thing to hear – to know he’d been with her that recently, but perhaps it gave her just a sliver of understanding. Could she bear it slightly more if Jaime had left her for the sake of his child rather than for Cersei?

“Is that why..."

"As I said, I don't know for sure. I didn't see him for long enough to discuss at length why he chose to leave”. Brienne went cold for the second time in as many minutes as his words sunk in,

"You saw him here!? After he left Winterfell!?" Tyrion looked away for a moment, and she saw a flash of something as he turned – a fresh injury; an open wound she knew she shouldn't press at. When he turned back his eyes were damp again.

"I did". She dropped her eyes from the intense contact he'd made, needing to escape the fullness of his pain. It was clear he didn't want to talk about it, so she remained silent to make it clear she wasn't going to push the matter further. After a few moments he continued,

"I want you to know that regardless of what he may have done afterwards, he tried again to save the people of this city. He rang the bells for surrender. And before he left to do that, he gave me this". He tossed a scrap of paper across the table at her. She stared at it for a moment, reading her name in Jaime's barely legible hand scrawled across the outside. The same feeling that had made her freeze in the chamber below returned, but this time she managed to push through it; with shaking hands she reached out and took the note. It took her an interminable length of time to unfold it, fingers failing to work properly, but finally she managed it.

She stared at the page, reading the single sentence there over and over until it ceased to have any meaning, whilst Tyrion fought to keep his gaze from searing into her face. She knew he was desperate to know what it said, but it took her several minutes to gain enough control of her churning emotions to speak. When she finally did, the overriding tone that came through was anger, her eyes rolling up to the ceiling,

"I love you and I’m sorry… What the fuck am I supposed to do with that Jaime!?" She stared back at Tyrion, and for the first time she saw him flinch just a shade under her demanding gaze. She didn’t really expect him to answer for his brother – it wasn’t reasonable or fair to ask him to, but she had nowhere else to direct her rage, or her pain, “What use is sorry to me now…?”

“Very little I imagine. But at least it shows he was thinking of you on that last night. I hope that means something, that he didn’t just leave and forget about you”.

“Perhaps”. She knew it would, in time, when she’d found a way to accept this; figured out how to make sense of it all. The hand that wasn’t holding her glass strayed to her belly, “Doesn’t help this little one though. Doesn’t bring back its father”. 

“No. It doesn’t. And for that I am very sorry. But, that’s my niece or nephew you’ve got in there, and quite aside from my own desire to look after my family, which includes you too just to be clear, it tells me Jaime would want me to make sure you’re both taken care of”. He retrieved the decanter and poured another glass of wine.

“I don’t want to be accused of going around in circles, but if he wanted us to be taken care of, he would have stayed”.

“And I also repeat, I can’t explain his actions or defend them. The only thing I do know for certain is that you’re the only woman in his entire life who ever turned his head from Cersei. And he could have had his pick of women, believe me. He loved you, without a shadow of a doubt”. She couldn’t refute his logic – didn’t want to, even though she had no idea whether confirmation Jaime really had loved her made her feel better or worse,

“I suppose I just need to focus on our child now – it’s not going have an easy life”. She sighed deeply, confiding her feelings to him seemed right and appropriate given the bond they now shared, “I’ve made such a mess of everything”. He took a deep swig from his newly refilled glass, clearly thinking, then cradled it in his lap,

“You didn’t know what was going to happen. Perhaps you were a little careless, but who can claim they’ve never made mistakes? I certainly can’t. If you’re looking for guilt I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong person. All you’re going to get from me is my support, and my respect”. 

“Thank you. That really means a lot”.

“I mean it. If you need anything, big or small, I want you to know you can come to me. I’m here for you – and because I want to be, not because of a sense of obligation”. He drank again, even deeper this time, and she sensed a slight change in his demeanour, a tremble in his arm as if he was suddenly nervous. When he continued, it followed into his voice,

“I… I’d offer to make an honest woman of you. If I thought there was any chance you’d accept. And if the King would allow it”. Her stomach churned – it was a very odd feeling, it made her nervous but at the same time deeply touched. She realised she should have expected this. 

“I deeply appreciate the sentiment. But you’re right I could never accept, even if my role would permit it. I could never trap you that way. What if you fell in love with someone? You’d end up resenting me”. Her thoughts turned to Sansa and their earlier conversation. Even without all the other reasons this could never happen, she could never do that to her friend. Regardless of the fact they weren’t together, or likely to be, she had to leave that chance open for the two of them. Who knew what the future held?

“That’s as maybe, but I have no intention to marry anyone else, and it would be better for the child”. She felt suddenly affronted at his assertion – it felt like pressure, and judgement of her refusal, even though she knew that was not his intent.

“I will decide what’s best for my child”. The immediate change in his expression indicated he’d realised his error.

“Of course you will. I beg your pardon”. He dipped his eyes briefly, “I don’t suppose anyone would believe for a second it’s mine in any case”. He drained his glass, and didn’t pour another. It seemed the conversation had reached a natural conclusion. Brienne finished her own drink and rose from the table,

“Thank you. For… all of this. I’m sure we will talk again, soon, but I have something I need to do”. And she did. She’d realised there was a pressing matter she needed to deal with right away, whilst she had certain things fresh in her mind. It wouldn’t be easy, but perhaps afterwards she may start to feel a little better. It was time for her to tell the truth about Jaime Lannister, her truth, for all the world to see.

^^^^^^^

Brienne allowed the excess ink to drip from her quill back into the bottle, as she stared at Jaime’s short entry in the Book of Brothers. She’d known since her conversation with King Bran that this was something she’d have to do, and that she wanted to do. The very idea of it, that she could commit to history all the good Jaime had done, the deeds most of the world never knew of – that they were blind to given his reputation – felt like the first step on a road towards healing. But it also felt very, very final. 

She began to write, the words flowing from her heart to the page easier with each sentence, as all the while she filled in the blanks in her head – those personal and private things between them that she would not commit to paper. It felt right, it felt good, even though the tears welled in her eyes with the memories, and the freshness of her grief. Regardless of her own pain, she owed it to him that history remembered him in the right way, that it remembered all the people he had saved. And in spite of the corrupting influences of his father and sister, that there had been a shining core deep inside him that was good, and honourable, and righteous. 

She stalled at the last, trying to work out how to describe his final actions. Thinking of what Tyrion had said about Jaime ringing the bells on the way to find Cersei, she allowed his story that last act of self-sacrifice, stretching the truth of his choice to return to Kings Landing. But it wasn’t entirely untrue, and to his death she also shone a favourable light, although here she spared the details that tore at her heart.

Closing the book with a satisfying thump she sat back in her chair, releasing the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, and with it some measure of the fear that had knotted her stomach since their arrival. She had given her final gift to the love of her life, and tonight, she would sit in vigil over him. When dawn came, somewhere in the endless pool of strength within her, she would find a way to let him go. Then it would be time to move onwards – one single step at a time. That way, it might somehow seem possible.


	18. Hey Love, It’s Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phew, this has been an epic. Christmas and New Year have got in the way of writing, and I’ve spent a lot of time over this one. I so hope you like it.
> 
> Song is ‘Hey Love’ by Michael W. Smith
> 
> ‘Now everything is still  
> The bedlam and the noise at bay  
> And all the busy birds have flown  
> My melancholy heart  
> Is beating with the perfect peace  
> One that I have always known
> 
> Hey love it’s me  
> I need you at the closing of the day  
> I need you when the night has peeled away  
> In other words I need you always  
> Let me tell you now for what it’s worth  
> I would move the heavens and the earth  
> Every day love, in every way love  
> Just to be with you’

The fire blazed strongly in the hearth. The evening sun had long fallen below the horizon outside the tower's windows, and sitting in their stone walled room of flickering light and shadow, it felt to Brienne as if she and Pod were the only people in the entire world. Of course, Jaime was also with them, but he lay on the bed at the far end of the room, ever silent.

Tyrion, Sansa and Davos had all joined them earlier in the evening to pay their respects – if any of them harboured thoughts about Brienne's choice to spend the night by Jaime’s side, they kept them to themselves. They'd raised glasses, shared stories and memories, and listened as Pod had lifted his hauntingly beautiful voice in song. 

Brienne could tell from the faces of the others gathered there that she wasn't the only one transported back to Winterfell, to the eve of battle. Then, none of them had known if they would see another dawn; in truth, likely expected they wouldn't. This was a different atmosphere, a new sadness, each lost in their own private thoughts. 

Brienne couldn't escape the feelings of that night – the fear and the hopelessness, but she was also overwhelmingly conscious that all those weeks ago, Jaime had sat beside her. Not just that but he’d asked her to kneel before him and bestowed upon her the greatest gift she’d ever received. His faith, his trust, had given her all the courage she'd needed to get through those long dark hours – tonight she had to find that courage on her own.

Gradually, each of them had retired, Davos nodding politely, whilst Sansa had planted a soft affectionate kiss on her forehead. Tyrion lingered a little longer, and she was happy to let him, their earlier frank, open conversation igniting the beginnings of what would hopefully become a lasting friendship. He got wistful smiles from her with tales of Jaime as a boy; the good memories, although the spectre of less happy ones loomed large, unspoken. 

He sensed her need for quiet after a time, and offered a gentle embrace, which she accepted, before taking his leave. The faltering glance he cast at Jaime spoke volumes of his love – it was wonderful to see but also searingly painful. In some ways she felt selfish, keeping his brother all to herself as she was, but she could tell he understood and there was no need for words. She had known Jaime in ways his little brother never could, for all the strength of their bond.

Pod had risen from his seat soon after, but she found herself suddenly nervous to be alone with Jaime and she'd asked him to stay a short while more. He'd smiled, softly, his features so much more a man's now, and less creased by uncertainty. He'd dropped a hand to her shoulder companionably before retaking his chair.

And so, now here they sat, largely in silence although Pod was humming softly to himself as they both stared into the flames. He was resting back in his chair, still wearing his shiny new Kingsguard armour. She’d been both surprised and gratified by his decision to join – he was young, to commit himself to a lifelong oath, but she knew he would be an excellent addition to the white cloaks under her command. On a more selfish note, she was happy to have him remain close – with Sansa leaving soon she’d need his solid, reliable presence all the more in the weeks and months to come.

The King had knighted him in the courtyard; Pod knelt on the painted map of Westeros, whilst she looked on almost bursting with pride at how far he’d come. Bran had insisted on taking her sword to perform the ceremony, which she initially found odd since he could very well have used Pod’s, but perhaps the fact Oathkeeper had been reforged from his father’s sword was significant to him, and she had to admit the name was appropriate for such an occasion. 

He’d also surprised her by drawing the sword across his palm – this was not part of any tradition she was familiar with, and she was concerned at his intentionally injuring himself. He showed no sign of pain, however, stemming the bleeding against his tunic as he spoke slowly and with assurance, before softly tapping each of Pod’s shoulders with the bloodied blade. He returned it to her, and in the absence of anything suitable to wipe it on, she’d pushed it back into its scabbard as was, making a mental note to clean it properly later. As she did so, the King had regarded her with the strangest look, almost a hint of a smile on his usually flat features, and that odd gut-twisting feeling had washed over her again.

Suitably fitting sets of armour had been found for them both from the armoury, with the promise of personally forged ones later when Kings Landing was sufficiently recovered. Brienne mused that she’d need to wait until she’d given birth and recovered her fitness in any case. She’d now discarded hers to the back of a chair by the table, but Pod seemed determined to keep his on, and she was pleased to see his obvious pride in his new role. She’d worn hers long enough to complete Jaime’s entry in The Book of Brothers before being forced by discomfort to remove it, but the ceremonial nature of that moment, and the fact it was the first duty she’d performed as Lord Commander, meant it had felt important to be in the correct attire for her position.

The thought of congealed blood coating the flawless Valyrian steel of her sword began to niggle at Brienne, and despite how comfortable and relaxed she was, she felt compelled to clean it. Rising reluctantly from her seat, she searched the room for a suitable cloth, Pod looking up from his drink quizzically. It took a few minutes before she found a ragged piece of material under the bed, and retrieved it before settling herself back in her chair by the fire. 

The temperature had dropped significantly since sunset, but it was really still too hot to have a fire – despite this, her time in the North had brought Brienne to find the flames comforting and she liked being close to them. She felt very calm and peaceful as she drew her sword and spat on the blade before rubbing the cloth over it to clean it of blood. This was far from the first time it had been coated red, and there was certainly less of it than on previous occasions, but this regular ritual always settled her mind. 

It took very little to pull her thoughts back to Jaime, and the memory of him gifting her this blade was never very far from her mind whenever she held it in her hand. She watched the reflected light of the flames play off the steel, images of that day playing in her mind, followed by those of other days, and nights. Soon, it was not just the fire flushing her skin with heat, as her thoughts strayed to the feel of his hard, naked body pressed against hers. Missing everything about him, both emotional and physical, burned painfully in her chest.

After several minutes, the blade appeared clean – she would give it a better clean and polish tomorrow, but it would do for now. She pushed it back into its scabbard, hooking the sword belt over the chair once more, then tossing the soiled rag into the fire.

Its dampness tempered the fire for a moment, but the wood was well alight, and when the cloth caught it began to crackle and smoke, sparks dancing around the edges. She breathed in – the smoke smelled a little strange, spicy almost, and she felt it tingle on her tongue and the inside of her nose. A shadow seemed to pass across the flames, and it sent an all too familiar shiver down her spine. Once again, she turned in her chair, half-expecting to see someone there but of course there was no one. Pod looked at her again, then over his own shoulder to see what had disturbed her. She tried to dismiss it,

“Sorry, thought I heard... it was nothing". His expression was one of concern – it seemed he was permanently worried about her these days and she was determined that was going to change. She was his commander and he should turn to her for support, not be a crutch for her to lean upon. She shot him a quick smile of reassurance before turning her focus back to the fire.

The remains of the cloth still glowed brightly as it burnt away in the base of the flames, and Brienne found watching it almost hypnotic. It was all but gone when it was replaced by Jaime's smiling face. The image was so clear, so vivid, she knew it was not just in her mind, and she stared, fixated, as it grew smaller – a scene revealing itself around him. She saw her own face, seated below him, and a baby in his arms, before the vision dissolved away. 

A strange warmth spread through her as she blinked several times, staring more intently into the fire. The image did not return, and although she braced for the inevitable pang of sadness she only felt cheered by what she saw. It was the strangest thing – the peaceful feeling that had been with her for the past few hours was redoubled. She hadn't felt this relaxed in weeks and she took a moment to enjoy it before the inevitable crash. It didn't come.

Pod yawned deeply, his now empty glass discarded to the side table between them. There was nothing to suggest he’d seen anything in the fire, his eyes falling closed as he rested his head back in the chair.

"You should go to bed. I’ll be fine here". And she meant it – she was ready, for what she wasn't sure, but she was filled with the strength to face whatever was to come.

"Are you sure?" He was understandably reluctant to leave her given her fragility over the past few days, but she smiled at him, a full smile this time, and he visibly relaxed.

"Yes, I’m absolutely sure". She reached a hand out to his, squeezing it affectionately and he appeared reassured. He busied around tidying glasses to the main table and gathering his few belongings before taking his leave.

She felt his absence immediately, but it did not make her anxious now. The strange image she'd seen in the fire replaying over and over in her head, she rose from the comfort of its flames to move over to Jaime's side. There was an easy chair already close to the bed, so she seated herself in it and reached out to take his hand, folding her fingers in his.

^^^^^^^^^

_Brienne found herself walking through a pine forest. The trees grew dense and close, such that the way ahead was very dark – the fact that she could just about see enough to find her way was all that told her it must be daytime, and some small amount of light was penetrating its way to the forest floor. The wind was strong – she could hear it roaring in the canopy far above, although down beneath the trees it was eerily calm and quiet; even her footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet of needles covering the path like a new fall of snow._

_The eerie feeling grew as she walked – it seemed the forest was completely deserted, not a sign of human or creature of any kind. Just as those thoughts were settling on her, and she was processing the sensation of being entirely alone, air rushed past her right ear accompanied by the sound of wingbeats. She turned a full circle, hand dropping to the hilt of her sword, but she saw nothing. The rushing sound came again, now past her left ear, but this time she stood firm, eyes ahead as she half drew her sword from its sheath._

_Before her, on a tree stump, alighted a raven. She stared it in the eye for long moments, gripped for some reason with the need to avert her gaze from the message attached to its leg – a message she knew instinctively was for her. An invisible force compelled her forwards._

_Her hands almost felt as if they belonged to someone else as she reached down to retrieve the note, like she was floating somewhere high in the trees watching herself. It seemed to unroll itself across her palm._

_"It’s yours. It'll always be yours". She looked down once more at the raven, and she realised it wasn't perched on a tree stump at all - its feet were wrapped around the hilt of a sword that was sticking out of the carpet of needles, partially buried in the ground. Her hand instinctively reflexed back to her own sword at her hip, the words taking her yet again back to the day Jaime had made that gift, but her hand met against empty air._

_She looked down, groping desperately at her belt in disbelief – she'd gripped it only a moment ago but now it was gone. She turned, searching the ground behind her, even though she knew there was no way it could have fallen out. No sword. It didn't make any sense._

_The raven cronked loudly, making her jump and spin back around. It flapped its wings once but didn't take off, and she noticed there was a familiar shape to the hilt its feet rested upon. She reached down once more, and the bird hopped several strides to a rock a short distance away as she gripped the hilt and pulled. It came away easily, feeling warm and light in her hand – it was wooden rather than steel, but in all other respects it was an exact replica of Oathkeeper._

_She held the sword up, turning it in her hand to inspect it, and that was the moment a shaft of sunlight broke through the previously impenetrable canopy, striking the blade and setting it aflame. She recoiled in shock, but although she could feel the heat it gave out, she somehow knew it couldn't burn her. She reached out her free hand and passed it through the flame – aside from a slight tingle in her fingers, she felt nothing. Even so, she lowered the blade tentatively. That was when she realised she was no longer standing in a forest._

_In front of her was a uniform palisade wall, stretching far above her eye-line. She stepped forward, trying to get her bearings, then she heard an ear-splitting roar from behind her. Even as she spun on her heel, she knew what she would see, knew what this was, her heart thumping in her chest at the memory. But she was wrong._

_There was a bear rearing high on its hind legs, bellowing, but not at her. Jaime stood shaking, his back almost pressed to the far wall of the pit, wooden sword prodding ineffectually at his foe. He wore no armour, his mud-caked shirt ripped open down the front, streaks of blood staining his golden hair. His right arm hung useless at his side._

_"Hey!" The word came sharp out of her mouth unbidden, instinctive, and the bear turned, but as it did so its paw came down heavily, tearing its claws into Jaime's chest and flinging him to the ground like a rag doll. Brienne screamed, charging at the bear with no thought for her own safety, or how she had any chance of defending herself against it with the wooden sword she clasped in her hand._

_As she reached it, she saw the bear hesitate for just a split second, its eyes flicking to her flaming blade, and she took the chance to aim a heavy swing at its stomach, fully expecting it to bounce off ineffectually. The sword cleaved deep into the bear’s flesh, tearing into muscle and bone, spilling its guts to the ground as its coat began to catch fire. She stumbled sideways, thrown off balance as the bear came crashing down but she barely paused, dancing inelegantly around the animal’s smouldering corpse as she dashed headlong towards Jaime motionless on the ground._

_She was afraid of what she would find, but he was somehow still breathing, shallow and laboured, but breathing nonetheless. She dropped to his side and pulled his head into her lap – her discarded sword, now extinguished, clattered dull against his where it had fallen to the ground. His eyes were glassy, but he looked at her with recognition,_

_"Brienne!" He coughed with the effort of talking, his voice coming out thin and barely above a whisper, "You came back for me"._

_"Of course I did". He laughed, hoarsely, blood welling from his mouth and running in a thin line down his chin,_

_"I always said I wanted to die in the arms of the woman I love". She shushed him, her hand smoothing his blood stained hair away from his face, "I’ve never been afraid of death, but now I’m here, with you holding me, I don't want to go. Please, Brienne my darling, please save me"._

_Tears fell from her eyes onto his face, and she scrunched them closed, dropping her head down to rest her forehead against his. She only had them shut for a moment, but when she opened them again he was gone, and she knelt alone in the dirt. She turned, but the bear had also disappeared, and the pit palisade – all that remained beside her were the two wooden swords, crossed over each other on the ground. She stood, wiping a sleeve across her tear-stained face, and retrieved them – sheathing her own scorched blade and pushing the wooden replica of Widow’s Wail into her belt at her right hip._

_When she looked around her, the first thing she noticed was that it was dark. She stood at the foot of a winding staircase, barely illuminated by torchlight from somewhere a long way above. Something compelled her to climb, step after step, but only a floor or so up it became clear that the tower was ruined. Loose stones, fallen beams and chunks of rubble began to block her way, but she continued on, a burning need to reach the top she couldn't explain. She slipped and fell more than once but it didn't stop her, in fact it only served to fuel her determination._

_As she rose higher, the light grew stronger – she passed a number of sconces, their torch flames burning low and weak, but each one flared with light as she drew close to them. Although they served to illuminate her way, she could tell the cold light that continued to grow stronger was daylight and she knew she must be reaching the top. As she ascended the last few steps, her hands met against leaves where foliage had begun to grow through the crumbling stonework, eating it away even further, and she suddenly felt the precarious nature of her situation. She shook the feeling off – she'd come this far now and every fibre of her being told her this was where she was supposed to be._

_She came upon a door at the top, cracked and splintered, with shafts of sunlight carving through it. Puffs of dust clouded into the air as she pushed it open, further slivers cascading to the ground. Light blazed into her eyes from a window on the far side of the empty room, and she raised an arm to shield them. Vegetation crowded the scene, growing up through the walls and the floor, and the decayed remnants of what must have been furniture were coated with a thick layer of dust._

_As her eyes grew accustomed to the harsh light she realised there were two silhouetted figures before her. She moved forward, until the frame of the window masked the sun, allowing her to see them more clearly. One was a woman, dressed in a dusky rose, her long fair hair falling in waves to her waist. She stood close to the window, her hand resting on the chest of a man who was braced in the frame of the window, his fingers gripping the crumbling edges of the stone. The sun kissed his golden hair as it shafted into the room, and Brienne felt her heart stop beating in her chest._

_A thousand thoughts stirred up by what was before her raced through her mind at once, and every one of them caused her pain. She gasped in a breath, her heart surging back to life with one heavy thump before settling into a fierce rhythm. Cersei turned, narrowed eyes fixing on Brienne with disdain, whereas Jaime met her with a soft curiosity through the fear that clouded his gaze. Cersei sneered as she spoke,_

_"You think I won't do it? You think *you* can save him? He's mine to do with as I please". Brienne darted forward, her left hand pulling Jaime’s sword from her belt and tossing it to him with one smooth motion, but she could see straight away that it was futile. Without even looking back at her brother, eyes filled with challenge, Cersei shoved hard and the stone around the window gave way, pitching Jaime backwards into thin air. Watching in dismay, Brienne froze for a moment taking in Jaime's horrified expression, and Cersei’s sneer turning into an evil smile._

_He loved her, with all of his being, and she was just discarding him like a piece of rubbish. She had never deserved him and he had deserved so very much more. Brienne charged, shoulder first, seeing Cersei's expression change to one of fear before she looked away. She braced, eyes closed, for the impact, prepared to carry both of them out of the window if need be, but she met against... nothing._

_Long seconds passed, and still nothing. She felt frozen in time, floating. Then, a soft breeze began to play against her hair and she opened her eyes. She had no memory of falling, but she found herself lying prone, face pressed against damp grass and the smell of morning mist in the air. A stab of fear pierced her as she thought of the baby for the first time since this all began, but there was no pain – she appeared to be uninjured. Gingerly, she raised her head, but fog obscured all except the short expanse of ground that was right before her. She took her time getting to her feet, brushing the loose dirt from her damp clothing, hand lingering a second longer over her belly._

_'I hope you're safe in there’, she whispered, before stepping forward into the mist. As she walked it grew darker, and more menacing, the fog becoming clouds of swirling smoke, thick and cloying, clinging to her and chilling her to the bone, giving her the urge brush it away. Each time she did it just clung more fiercely, curling onto her face and making her cough._

_Just when she felt she couldn't stand it any more, an encampment emerged out of the gloom, hazy torchlight bleeding into the murk that cloaked the world. A single striped tent loomed large before her, its cheerful colours muted, but still a stark contrast to the washed out darkness. Its unlaced flap gaped open, beckoning her inside._

_She didn’t want to step in. She knew it, this tent, this time – in many ways this was where it all began, where she’d tasted failure for the first time; where she’d set off on a path that had entwined her with Jaime. Of course, she knew she had no choice but to go inside – she had to see this through, to watch these events unfold and embrace their inevitability._

_As she entered, a sudden wind whipped the canvas, redoubling her sense of unease. She’d known Renly would be standing there, but seeing him very much alive as he turned to her with a smile was still a shock. She’d believed she loved him once – now that feeling was confused, but she still cared deeply for him even though he’d been gone such a long time. Also long dead, and also dear to her, Catelyn sat cross legged at the table with a glass of wine._

_It warmed her heart to see them both again, but she knew she was looking at ghosts; at a moment long back in time that she had no desire to even recall, let alone relive. But she knew it was coming, as the swirling gale whipped against the tent once again. Her heart raced in her chest._

_She walked over to Renly, drawing her sword as she did, determined to be ready this time – resolved to prevent the heinous injustice she'd failed to stop before. He appeared alarmed as she moved closer, but even as she lifted her free hand to calm him, the poisonous shadow began to creep beneath the canvas and she knew it was futile._

_Even in dreams her sword could do nothing against the evil magic that wormed its way into a place that should have been safe, that she should have been able to keep safe – she saw that now. It didn't stop her from trying, pressing forward with her front foot to meet the shadow blade as it thrust forward – straight through the solid wood of hers before it pierced Renly’s ribcage with the same sickening wet crunch that had kept her awake for many a night afterwards._

_She froze, tensing, as if the mere force of her will could change this; prevent it from happening again, but his body collapsed limp to the floor once more. She glanced to Catelyn, but there was no shock there – perhaps the other woman had also known what was going to happen. Her eyes were fixed on the corpse at Brienne's feet, wide and staring. Brienne didn’t want to look down – she knew what she would see, didn't want to feel that pain again, that sense of loss and failure, but she couldn't prevent her eyes from trailing down along the path of her sword as it fell to her side, until they met the scene below._

_She felt the loss just as keenly, but the sense of failure was markedly absent. She knew now, as she hadn't been able to all those years ago, that there really was nothing she could have done. She felt the power of the magic that had done this and she'd been unable to stand in its way. She looked at his face, frozen in shock, and she found herself wondering if he'd had any notion at all of what had happened._

_As she did, she felt a shiver flow down her spine – although clearly dead, his expression, no, his very features reformed before her eyes. His face changed, his eyes, his hair, and she watched in disbelief unable to tear her gaze away as he slowly stopped being Renly Baratheon and became… Jaime Lannister. She was breathing hard, her heart racing so fast she almost felt as if it would beat out of her chest._

_She stared, wondering how many times she would be forced to endure this pain, when she saw spots of red start to appear on his skin. Confused, she leaned closer, then she realised they were dripping from her sword. Blood had run down the blade of her sword and fallen onto his face – and it seemed to be coming from within the wood itself._

_Then, Jaime began to move – barely perceptible at first so she almost thought she was imagining it, but after a few seconds his beautiful eyes opened and he slowly rose to his feet. Brienne no longer knew what to think, other than she was happy beyond measure to see him standing whole beside her. She reached out an arm, using her sleeve to wipe away the blood that was now running down his face._

_He smiled, warm and happy, and he reached down to wrap his fingers in hers. She allowed him to lead her – out of the tent into what was now blazing sunshine, not a trace of mist to be seen. She couldn’t help but squeeze his hand; to feel it solid and real in hers as they walked onwards. The world became white, and warm, bright sunshine licking soft flames towards them to brush against their skin._

_Red stone steps unfolded before them; countless steps that seemed to reach into the sky. He paused, his hand dropping hers to press against the small of her back, encouraging her onwards. She turned to look at him, his beautiful smiling face filled her with happiness, but also a melancholy, and he nodded, raising his eyebrows and inclining his head to indicate she go on without him. She made as if to turn back, but he pressed his hand firmer,_

_“Go on my love, you must finish this alone. Here, take my sword”. He handed her the wooden Widow’s Wail, and he read her confusion – she dropped her hand to her own sword as he continued, “Trust me, you’ll need it”._

_She tried to take his hand again, tried to pull him to her – bereft at the very idea of letting him go, but he pressed his sword into her hand and she was forced to take it, pushing into her belt once more._

_“Go now. Don’t worry, I’ll see you soon”. Every hair on her body felt like it stood on end at his words, memories of all the times she’d felt this ethereal sensation pooling together, squeezing and churning into a mass of indescribable emotion in her gut. It really did make her believe she would see him again – in the real world, once she’d done whatever she needed to before she could leave this place._

_First, the Red Witch Melisandre at Castle Black, then Bran in Winterfell on that painful night, and almost every minute since she’d set foot back in Kings Landing, that feeling, that knowing, it all culminated here in this moment – it had all been pointing to now, trying to give her a sense of what was going to happen next. She began to climb, trusting in all of it, trusting in Jaime as his hand slid away, leaving her with the strength, with the belief to keep stepping forward. She reached a heavy door and without hesitation she pushed it open._

_She wasn’t quite sure what she’d been expecting – the only room she knew of with such a door was the Great Hall, a place she’d never seen. That was indeed where this was, but nothing like she’d envisioned it. She had no idea how much of the difference was her own poor imagination and how much was as a result of Daenerys’ attack, but the enormous Weirwood tree pushing its way up through the floor was due to neither of those things. Its branches spread wide across the span of the room, cascading vine like leaves down the thick pillars at either side. Water pooled still and dark at its feet._

_The room was open to the sky, with swathes of wall and ceiling crumbled into rubble at one side. The infamous Iron Throne itself was melted away to nothing, thick, solid chunks of it petrified where it had cooled in its flow down the steps of the dais._

_As far as she could tell, Brienne was alone in the room – she looked around, feeling a little uncertain, but it didn’t prevent her from moving forward, trying not to look at the faded blood stain on the floor at her feet._

_Throughout her time in Winterfell, she’d found the godswood peaceful and welcoming, despite feeling no connection to the gods of old. She’d often managed to find a clarity there that had otherwise eluded her, so she’d come to think of it as a sort of sanctuary. She began to gain that same sense of ease now as she moved beneath the leaves._

_Reaching the edge of the pool, the urge came upon her to sink her feet into the water. She sat briefly to remove her boots and on standing again, took a moment to flex her bare toes against the smooth marble. Taking a step forward, the cool water rippled over her tired feet – it felt heavenly. The trunk of the mighty Weirwood loomed before her, the deep ravines of its bark running upwards, vein-like. Right in the centre, just at her eye level, a huge X appeared to have been hacked away. She was drawn towards it, moving through the deepening water, forced to wade as it rose above her knees. She reached the tree, tracing her fingers over the deep wounds in its flesh, feeling their shape. Then, she realised what they were, and she knew what she had to do. Far from mere vandalism, a pair of longswords had been carved from its wood – swords she carried at her belt._

_She drew them, taking a moment to turn them in her hands before matching them to the tree’s wounds. For a second it seemed like nothing happened. Then, they began to feel light and cold in her hands where she pressed them into the trunk. Soft tendrils of ice crystallised outwards as the swords sealed themselves back into the trunk from which they had been hewn. She took a step backwards, watching as the entire tree froze and changed, the base of its trunk reforming into what became… a throne._

_That was the moment she realised she was no longer alone._

_“Thank you for returning my father’s sword”. He appeared as a child, and he walked down from the dais to take his seat on the throne, but she knew it was Bran nonetheless, “The two halves are united now as they were always supposed to be”. She acknowledged his words with a single sharp nod,_

_“Your Grace”. She moved up to his side, and he reached down to lift something into his lap. It was a book, and she recognised it instantly as he leafed through the pages to find the one he wanted,_

_“The story isn’t over. There’s still time”. The Book of Brothers gaped open, and she knew before she looked down that it was on Jaime’s page. When she did look, however, she was not met with the words she had penned in tears a few short hours ago. A single verse meandered in decorative script down the page._

_“Warm sun did rise on lion’s pain  
So pure of heart through cruelty’s reign  
Their strength was seen in oaths fulfilled  
Though forged in hate, did favour build  
To bond long sealed with ancient blade  
And cage now broken, shall debt be paid”_

_She wanted to ask Bran, what it meant, but she already knew in her heart – understood every word, and the anxious excitement they brought burned bright and fierce below her heart. She turned back to him, wondering if he would show any reaction, but the scene was already beginning to dissolve and she was left floating in white mist once again._

^^^^^^^

Brienne opened her eyes to the room in near darkness, the fire burning low in the grate. Her hand still loosely clasped in Jaime's rested softly on the bed at his side; images of the dream she'd had swam vivid through her mind. It had all felt so very, very real.

She glanced at Jaime's face, almost with expectation – with the hope after what she'd seen and heard that he would somehow just awaken. But he was as still and cold as he had been when she drifted into sleep.

She stood, slowly, straightening out the stiffness in her back. The calmness, the peace, that had been resting over her all evening was even deeper now. It was the strangest feeling – she hadn't been so content since the day Jaime left Winterfell, but nothing had changed. He was still gone, and yet she knew something had been set in motion that was not yet complete. She felt it with a surety that almost frightened her - some power was at work that she didn't understand or know the origin of. She was compelled to speak, to talk to the man on the bed before her, even though she knew he couldn't hear her.

"Jaime? Jaime my love, it's time to wake up now. I need you. I'll always need you”. She leant down, planting a kiss on his lips before allowing her head to rest against his chest and arm wrap around him, as if she would hear his heart beating.

She didn't. She closed her eyes, scrunched them together as if she could will him back to life, as if the strange cryptic messages she'd received in her dream were more than just that. That it hadn’t been just a dream.

"I dreamed of you my love. I dreamed you were coming back to me. I know it's true". She felt her own breathing as she nestled there against his chest, deeply in and out, in and out – wishing, praying for his chest to rise in answer. But he remained silent, still, resolute and stubborn as he had been before she went to sleep.

After a few more minutes, she rose back to her feet, disbelieving that nothing had changed. She'd really thought...

She suddenly felt foolish, to hope, to believe in what? That she could perform magic? She shouldn't have been so naive as to get her hopes up just to have them dashed once again. But for just one heart-stopping moment she’d believed fairy tales could be real. That goodness and love and redemption truly existed in this world in spite of everything.

She moved away from him, gathering her belongings from around the room, her armour and sword belt she left on the back of the chair to be retrieved in the morning – there was little point carrying all that weight upstairs to her new permanent quarters.

Her legs felt heavier with every step up the stone stairs, the sense that she was leaving something unfinished still nagging at her, but the rational part of her mind couldn't bring itself to sit beside Jaime any longer, praying for a dream that would never come true.

She reached the top floor – she wondered if Bran had considered the logic of her moving to the traditional Lord Commander’s rooms in her present condition. She'd been so surprised by the honour she hadn't thought to question it, but she now felt utterly exhausted after the climb. She collapsed on top of the bed without undressing and quickly fell into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

^^^^^^^

In the bedchamber far below, dawn began to creep its way slowly, quietly, through the window. All was still, the fire reduced to ash and a dull glow in the hearth, its dying warmth soon to be replaced by the sleepy heat of the day. There was nothing to suggest this was anything other than just the start of another morning, until the silence was broken by a sharp gasp.

Then, Jaime Lannister opened his eyes.


	19. Wake Up With the Sun on My Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song is ‘Numb’ by David Archuleta
> 
> I think I’ll take a second chance  
> Won’t be passing by these waters again  
> Wanna feel redemption's hand  
> See this life only for what it is  
> I know the river's not too wide  
> I can see it for myself with my own eyes  
> Someone out there's on my side  
> It's not my place to question why  
> I hear the whispers in the stars  
> The words that tell us more of who we are  
> Someone out there’s not that far  
> Everything I need is here now
> 
> Everybody needs time away  
> To wake up with the sun on their face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor edit as Jucor88 pointed out I had someone reacting to something they already knew. Hopefully reads better now! 🙂

Jaime breathed deep and fast for a few moments, his heart racing unevenly in his chest. He’d woken with a jolt as if there’d been a loud noise but the room was completely quiet. He supposed it was possible something in a dream had startled him, but he couldn’t recall dreaming anything since he’d last drifted off.

He felt strange and everything around him looked hazy. He tried to work out where he was – he could see very little of his surroundings without lifting his head, and yet instinct told him that this was somewhere very familiar. His mind felt fuzzy and slow –thinking was hard so he could barely process what he was looking at. All he knew was he'd lain on this bed before, many times.

Every part of him ached, but with fatigue and not the relentless choking pain he'd been gripped by for what felt like forever. He also felt mercifully cooler despite the warmth of the room – the fever had passed. Was he really going to live after everything?

He tried to lift his head but quickly felt a blinding wave of dizziness – he allowed it to drop heavily back to the pillow. In the brief time he'd held it up, however, he’d managed to work out where he was – in his old room in the White Sword Tower. He was confused – it didn't make sense that he would be in this room, under any circumstances he could think of; particularly completely alone and lying fully clothed on top of the bed covers, his sword resting on the bed beside him.

He couldn’t guess at how much time had passed, but the way the light fell softly through the window onto his face told him it was was morning. He stretched – he could feel his toes, and realised how long it had been since that had last been the case. His body was so stiff he knew he must have been asleep for days, but it was a relief to finally feel something other than just pain – to breathe freely without fearing every breath would be his last.

He ran his hand over every part of himself that he could reach – everything seemed in place, aside from an odd cramping around his stomach, which could just be due the length of time since he'd eaten properly. Memories of someone pouring broth into his burning throat made him shudder and clench his jaw closed at the discomfort. He wondered again at the fact he was now alone – along with whoever had nursed him, Tyrion had been here. 

His brother’s presence was the one thing amongst the memories and feelings that had poured relentlessly through his mind that he knew had been real. He was the one who had saved Jaime from that crushing prison and his heart ached to hold him and tell him all the things he now knew, the things Tyrion had tried to tell him for years but that he'd dismissed, ignored. How different things might have been if he'd listened to his brother. 

Brienne’s face formed vivid in his mind, and his stomach turned over at the feelings it brought to the surface. He wanted to see her so badly, he had so much to say – so much to apologise for. The need to get back to Winterfell as soon as possible burned in his chest – he had to tell her he loved her and that he wanted to be with her always.

He raised his head again, pushing through the head rush and the tingling in his limbs; forcing himself stubbornly to his feet in spite of the fact his body felt like it was on fire, burning with fatigue as if he'd sparred all day. He tried to take a step, but his legs gave way beneath him and he crashed to the floor, panting with effort.

After what felt like hours, that was where Tyrion found him.

^^^^^

When Brienne woke, the sun was already high in the sky and streaming through the window – indeed it was likely the light and warmth on her face that had finally woken her. Her head felt awful – she had no idea what time she'd finally fallen into bed, but she could tell she hadn't had nearly enough sleep. She rose slowly, peeling off her damp, sweaty tunic and throwing it to the floor. 

She really needed to wash, and fortunately there was fresh water on the washstand, cold, but that was pleasant on her hot skin as she dipped the flannel and ran it over her neck. The dream she'd had whilst she slept beside Jaime still played vivid in her thoughts, followed by the accompanying mess of feelings. She'd never had a dream anything like that before, and it was hard to believe it didn't mean something. She'd seen magic with her own eyes more than once; experienced it at work for both good and ill, and she knew what it felt like. Perhaps she'd expected too much, but the nagging sensation that last night’s revelations were still unfinished refused to leave her.

Feeling much fresher, she dried herself and tossed the towel onto the back of the chair. She was beginning to grow accustomed to these simple luxuries once more – most people of her status took such things for granted, but she'd done without them for many years whilst the road had been her home. She’d lived that way without second thought, but she was very thankful she didn’t have to sleep on the ground and bathe in the river in her current condition.

She stretched, reaching her arms towards the distant ceiling, accompanied by a chorus of crunches from her neck and back. As she dropped her hands back to her sides, she caught sight of herself in the mirror on the far side of the room. She gasped in shock – the modest curve of her belly appeared to have doubled in size overnight. The child that had been largely a vague and nebulous thing in her head was suddenly a very visible reality. She rubbed a soft hand over her stomach, marvelling at the miracle that was happening within her. If she was searching for evidence of magic she didn't need to look any further than this.

"Hello little one. You're ready for the world to know you're in there, huh?" Brienne couldn't honestly say she was similarly ready – she wished she could feel happier, more excited, and she was both of those things, but they were tempered by fear. Bran had promised she, and the child, would be taken care of and she didn't doubt his sincerity, but there was still so much uncertainty about what was to come. She imagined most women in her position were afraid of giving birth, but to her that was the least of what she had to face. Physical pain was one thing that held no fear for her at all – it was merely endurance and she’d proven her capability on that score many times over.

Her mind wandered many years back to when Catelyn had talked to her of that pain – back then she hadn't imagined she would ever birth a child, least of all one fathered by the man Catelyn would commit to her charge not long after. She wondered what Lady Stark would make of it – she held Jaime in as much scorn as anyone else, more even after what he'd done to her son. What would she think of Brienne and her choices if she could see her now? Catelyn had also talked to her extensively about love, so she had to hope the Lady would understand even if she didn’t approve. It had been gratifying to see her again in dreams, however briefly. She hoped that whatever came after this life, wherever her Lady was now, she was at peace.

She allowed her hand to linger a few moments longer on her belly, staring at the figure reflected in the glass – she barely recognised her own body. She’d trained hard for years, pushed herself beyond what even she believed she was capable of. Her every muscle had been toned and firm; this new softness was hard to get used to. In some ways it almost felt like a failure, but she fought against that feeling – she had a new set of challenges to face now, and she would meet them head on. There was something, someone, more important than martial prowess and fitness.

She turned away from the mirror, retrieving a fresh tunic from her small trunk at the foot of the bed. She pulled it on, glancing back to the glass again to see how visible her bump was – the material that had previously fitted loose was taut across her stomach. She rummaged in the trunk again – packed in the bottom was the gambeson she'd worn with her old armour, before she'd received the gifted set from Jaime. It was a long time since she'd worn it, but she knew it was well padded and fit looser than any of her other clothes. She buckled into it, and was satisfied that her condition would now not be immediately obvious to the casual onlooker. 

She wasn't sure if she'd be able to wear her new armour now; she and Bran both knew there would be a limited time in which she could, but she hadn't expected the moment to come quite this soon. She’d have to discuss with him suitable alternative attire, but that came with a whole world of mental obstacles she’d have to confront in the coming days. 

A formal schedule of duties hadn't been drawn up yet – the King had given Brienne and Pod a few days to settle in, and for Brienne to come to terms with… Jaime, before taking up their duties. Brienne wasn’t sure it was something she’d ever come fully to terms with, but she’d perform those duties nonetheless. Bran would be guarded by some of the Stark men until those who were returning to Winterfell left – a few may remain to take up permanent positions in the Kingsguard, but they would discuss those appointments in due course. 

So, for now, she was free to do as she wished – perhaps not the best thing for her present state of mind, which would be better served with set tasks to perform. Even sparring, her go to activity for any free time, was firmly off the agenda. She sighed; her immediate impulse was to go back to Jaime, but at some point she had to let go – to stop dreaming, pretending and start to move forward. She turned to the nightstand, picking up the comb she'd left there and dragging it through her hair, whilst considering how to spend the day.

As she did she glanced up at the window. Sitting on the outer windowsill was a white raven. There was nothing tied to its leg – it was merely sitting there, preening itself, fluffing out its feathers on the morning sun. When it noticed her it looked right at her and cawed loudly before taking off. She felt compelled to rush to the window, to see the direction it flew, but when she got there, there was no sign of it. She rubbed her eyes, searching the courtyard but the bird was gone. 

She was sure she hadn't needed any more odd sensations that made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck; any more cryptic signs that unseen powers were at work, but apparently someone or something thought she did. Tossing the comb onto the bed she left the room and made her way to the stairs.

^^^^^

Jaime watched the door open from where he lay collapsed in an aching heap. Time seemed to slow – he had no idea whether the person entering the room would be friend or foe, but he breathed out with relief when he saw the familiar shape of his little brother. His racing heart began to settle, and the tension in his muscles to relax.

But instead of rushing to Jaime's side to see if he was all right, or calling for help from beyond the door, Tyrion merely froze in his tracks. Jaime had long moments to observe the shock on his brother's face, and he could only describe it as total and utter disbelief. He'd never seen his brother so dumbstruck, not at the children's deaths, not when he'd been dragged away in chains, not even when he'd killed their father. Jaime couldn't fathom what was going through his brother's head, and it wasn't just due to the haze that was still clouding his mind. Finally he couldn’t stand the silence any longer,

"Well say something”. His brother didn’t even appear to register he had spoken, remaining slack-jawed and staring. Louder and with greater urgency, Jaime added, "I could do with some help here".

His words finally seemed to snap Tyrion into action, and he disappeared for a moment – Jaime heard snippets of a whispered conversation before his brother returned. Tyrion moved over to his side, but he was still behaving oddly – he didn't ask if Jaime was hurt or check him over, he just ran a gentle hand over his brother's face, continuing to stare, eyes wide. Jaime's stomach was gripped with a strange anxiety.

"Tyrion, are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost". His brother laughed – high and hard, and Jaime's anxiety turned to real concern. Tyrion seemed almost hysterical. It took several long, worrying moments for him to calm down before he finally answered,

"I have seen a ghost. I'm looking at one". Jaime's confusion deepened and Tyrion must have read it right from his face, "You've got no idea have you? Jaime, you died". 

The second the words left Tyrion’s mouth, images started to assault Jaime's mind. Flames crept up the sides of his vision, and a tower loomed before him, the walls running with blood. He reached out, grasping for Tyrion's hand, and his brother took it, face coming into sharp focus as the images faded away. Tyrion's features were now only creased with concern.

"I don't know what’s happening." Jaime could hear his own voice – strangled and trembling with fear. His head still felt strange, as if he was watching everything from far away. He’d died!? What the hell did Tyrion even mean – the words didn’t make any sense to him. Surely they’d made a mistake.

"Neither do I, all I know is you're alive and that's more than enough for me right now". Two figures entered through the open doorway, and both stopped dead when they saw Jaime just as Tyrion had done.

"Well fuck me!” Bronn’s unmistakeable tones, harsh as ever, rolled unapologetically into the room, "I thought that guard was taking the piss but here you are, Jaime fucking Lannister, nine lives like a god-damned cat". The other person who'd entered the room remained silent but, squinting through his hazy vision, Jaime made out the form of Davos. His expression was less one of shock and more of curiosity. It was a look that told Jaime the Onion Knight had some knowledge of what was happening to him. After a few seconds to gather themselves, the two men moved over to lift Jaime back onto the bed, propping him up on the pillows.

"Did you summon the Maester?" Tyrion's face was still creased with worry.

"Aye, not that I imagine this is within his usual realm of experience", Davos squinted at Jaime appraisingly, and his feeling that the man knew more than he was letting on intensified, "Ser Jaime what do you remember?".

Jaime cast his thoughts inward, cautiously after his unsettling vision. He barely knew where to begin explaining all he’d been through whilst he lay dying. The memories were hazy – so much of his life had been stirred up and jumbled together it all seemed a blur. He’d made so many mistakes and endured so many heartaches and for what? Someone who he'd been too blind to see through – too smitten to realise how she'd treated him for years. Tyrion had been right, deep down he’d always known what she was, but he’d still believed she loved him and that it was the two of them against the world. He knew now how wrong he’d been. Through all that pain shone the one person who'd helped him break away – made him see who he really was and who he could be. 

The flames returned, but he leaned into them this time instead of shrinking away, felt their warmth – the same warmth Brienne had brought into his life. He saw her take his hand, run to his side, over and over; she'd saved him so many times he just knew she'd saved him once again. Maybe he really had died, but somehow she'd pulled him out of the dark, back from the precipice; given him the chance to make things right. And that was exactly what he was going to spend the rest of his life doing. How did he now explain that? How did he answer Davos' question in a way that didn't make him sound like some kind of mad man?

"I dreamed – so many things I can hardly make sense of them. I saw blood, and flames." It was an impossibly vague way to put across what he'd experienced, but it appeared to be enough for Davos, who pressed his lips together with a frown and gave a barely perceptible nod,

"I've seen this before. The Red Witch, at Castle Black,” he said cryptically. He reached a hand toward Jaime's shirt, raising an eyebrow to request permission to lift it. Jaime had no idea what he was looking for but he had respect for the man, and if he thought he had answers Jaime wanted to know them; he nodded back his consent.

Davos flipped back the material to reveal a series of deep stab wounds in Jaime’s pale stomach – knitted together with stitches, but gaping open more than healed wounds should, whilst free of blood or infection. There was a chorus of gasps – even Bronn, who'd once told Jaime he'd seen everything and could never be surprised again, looked rather taken aback. Jaime stared at flesh his mind couldn't recognise as his own – his hand trembled as he reached out to run it over the wounds, subconsciously tensing, but there was no pain. Either he really had been brought back by some magical means or he was still dreaming, and this didn't feel anything like a dream. Davos continued,

"I saw Melisandre raise Jon Snow from death and it was very much like this. This is the work of gods – but who..."

"Jon Snow? I never heard the full story of what happened there." Tyrion looked intrigued – Jaime wasn't sure why his brother was so concerned about the Dragon Queen's consort, but he was glad of the momentary distraction of everyone’s eyes on him. It gave him the space to realise he had no real idea as to what had transpired since the battle – he didn’t doubt Daenerys had been victorious and was now firmly seated on the Iron Throne with Snow beside her, but he couldn’t fathom how Tyrion had persuaded her to allow him to be dragged from the rubble. More to the point, to subsequently have his body brought here of all places. He burned to know the answers, but there was time enough for all that later, once he felt less groggy, once all of this started to make any sort of sense.

The jumbled sound of voices discussing Jon Snow at volume suddenly ebbed away, and Jaime looked up to see Podrick Payne enter the room, mouth agape as he stared directly at him with an expression that was becoming all too familiar.

“It’s true!" He exclaimed, the look of shock still frozen on his face. Tyrion, on the other hand, cast an irritated glance at the guard standing just outside the door,

“Is this round the whole castle!? I told you to be discreet.”

"I didn't breathe a word m'Lord, only to these two as directed.” The poor man looked terrified, gesturing to Bronn and Davos. Tyrion sighed, annoyed, and shot a final warning glance at the man before shutting the door firmly. His gaze flicked back to Jaime with a strange uneasiness in his eyes, before settling on Pod.

"Where’s Brienne?" He half-whispered it, as if he could keep Jaime from hearing, but the words travelled straight to Jaime’s heart, gripping him with fear and excitement. That was when he realised Pod’s presence should instantly have told him his love was also in Kings Landing. His mind was still clouded - he couldn't think and even the most obvious things were passing him by.

"She’s here!?" He searched the room as if he’d find her, and his eyes fell on a familiar sword belt and scabbard hooked over a chair at the table; they answered his question. There was also a set of Kingsguard armour on the back of the chair – his muddled brain managed to register Pod was wearing the same familiar attire of the white cloaks. There was nothing about this morning that made sense. All he knew was he needed to find Brienne right now, and then everything would fall into place – he was already rising from the bed, fighting the haze. But Bronn reacted with lightening speed, pinning him down,

"Come on you idiot. You're in no fit state to go anywhere. I’m sure we can have her fetched here if you're so desperate to see her". Jaime stopped struggling, but he looked to his brother with urgency – he didn’t want to beg but he would if he had to. Pod glanced quickly between the two of them before addressing Tyrion,

"But he doesn't know anything about what's going on. About her position or the b… " Tyrion cut him off in mid flow,

"I think, Pod, those are things we should allow her to tell Ser Jaime herself". His look was very pointed, and Jaime suddenly realised more time had passed than he'd initially guessed – clearly a lot had transpired and he wanted to know about all of it. Right now though, he just wanted to see her; wanted to hold her, if she'd let him. Pod nodded, abashed, holding his tongue on saying more,

"She’s still abed. She must have retired very late – I don't know what time but she was determined to continue sitting up when I left".

"Someone should talk to her before she finds out for herself". At Tyrion’s words, the clear sound of the door opening echoed into the room. Bronn was already facing the door, still poised over the bed to prevent Jaime making any further attempts to leave. As the others turned, he said,

"I think it's a bit late for that". Pod stepped back to give Brienne a clear view of the bed, and all their eyes were on her as she stared at Jaime, eyes filled with wonder rather than shock.

"It worked," she breathed, before her knees gave way and she grasped for a chair.


	20. Enough to Go By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is ‘Enough to Go By’ by Vienna Teng
> 
> ‘It was years ago, god knows  
> When you strained to tell me your whole truth  
> That you were not mine to save  
> That you could not change
> 
> I’m wanting your anger  
> I only want to see if I can shake you out of sleep  
> And bring you out under this flooded sky  
> At any price
> 
> Carry the weight  
> I’ll carry the weight of you, I swear  
> Carry the weight  
> Carry the weight of me
> 
> Would it be enough to go by  
> If we could sail on the wind in the dark  
> Cut those chains in the middle of the night  
> That had you pulled apart  
> Would it be enough to go by  
> If there's moonlight pulling the tide  
> Would it be enough to live on  
> If my love could keep you alive‘

Brienne gripped the back of the chair until her knuckles turned white, head bowed and knees trembling with the effort of remaining upright, but she refused to collapse to the floor for the second time in as many days. She wished, in this of all moments, she could trust her legs to hold her up – prayed that this body which felt increasingly less familiar by the day would not fail her again. She looked up to see the walls of the room closing in on her vision – it made the already impossible scenario in front of her feel even less real. She forced herself to breathe through the invisible band that had tightened itself around her chest.

"Well I think we have an answer as to who did this…” Brienne had no idea who had spoken or what they meant, and she didn't much care. The room was crowded with people, but she only had eyes for Jaime - he was half-sitting up in the bed, and he was very much alive. After all she’d been through in the past weeks, somehow, from somewhere, she’d been gifted a beautiful miracle, and she had no idea who or what to thank for it; for him. 

What she had known, ever since she’d seen the image of him holding their child in the fire last evening, and with more certainty than she'd ever possessed about anything, was that he would be returned to her, and no rational thought since had been able to shake that conviction. It scared her, a deep, consuming fear that shook the foundations of everything she'd thought was true, but in spite of that fear she was overjoyed to have her every belief shattered just to see him breathing once again. She’d always tried to forge her own way in life – to be wholly independent and to prove women could be more than a warm bed for men to come home to after blood and glory, but right now none of that mattered. The elation she felt forced her to admit he was her everything.

His eyes were likewise fixed on her, a softness in them that held a thousand thoughts and feelings, filling her insides with butterflies and casting the tatters of her resolve to the earth. He looked so young and so vulnerable, thinner than he’d been all those weeks ago, with his five o'clock shadow and his hair long and fair as a babe's. It turned her thoughts back to his child, nestled within her, and she resisted the urge drop a hand to her belly.

She couldn't begin to describe how it felt to see him there, breathing, his blue-green gaze washing over her like the sea – it was everything she'd dreamed and more, but her heart was still so sore her desperate relief was edged with pain; her stomach remaining knotted in a tight ball. There was a lot to be said, a lot to tell him, and she had no idea where to begin with any of it. The one thing she did know was she needed all of these people to leave so she could kiss him; press her face into his neck and just breathe him in – to let the comforting weight of his arms fall around her and hide from all the hard things she needed to say. Since entering the room she'd barely registered who else was there, but when Tyrion spoke words he’d seemingly read straight from her mind, she could have kissed him too,

"May I suggest we all give Ser Brienne and Ser Jaime some space – I’m certain they have much to discuss. There will be plenty of time for the hows, whats and wherefores later". His eyes were bright with joy – he must have been equally desperate for time with his brother but he was giving way to her once again. She was immeasurably grateful, and that gratitude was mirrored in Jaime's look toward Tyrion – his obvious desire to be alone with her clenched her stomach all the more. Everyone filed out of the room – Brienne only realised Pod was present when he gently squeezed her shoulder as he moved past; she leaned into the welcome contact, shooting him a half-smile and whispering, "We’ll talk later".

Every instinct she possessed urged her to bolt straight to Jaime's side, but she forced herself to be cautious; she managed to hold back to just hasty strides before her lips fell on his. He answered her with the same hunger, his tongue searching out hers eagerly as he pulled her against him. She hated the thick padding between them in that moment, wishing she could feel his taut chest press flush against her breasts, but that tiny part of her mind not driven by need was glad of it. She wasn't ready for him to know about the baby yet – had to have this moment be solely about their simple need of each other before all the pain, loss and complications got in the way. And for those few blissful seconds it really did feel that simple, as if everything could go back to the way it was, and all that heartache could just be forgotten. But it couldn't. She could feel it, the hurt and anger trying to force its way out as if it would start to bleed through her skin.

He pulled away first, his hand on her arm and eyes searching her face – for what? For her forgiveness? All she'd wanted since the second he left was to have him back; for her child to have its father – she'd made every imaginable excuse for him in her head and explained away his actions to others many times. But now he was here in front of her, asking her for the same absolution she'd created endlessly for him since the day he left, she couldn't give it to him. As badly as she wanted him, she couldn’t allow herself to forgive him so easily for all he'd put her through. Then he spoke,

"I love you". She’d prayed, day after day, to hear those words, whispered them to her pillow at night, and then into his ear as he lay before her, cold and still. She wanted them to melt her rage away, wanted to be okay with the fact he'd had to have all this happen to realise it. But they didn’t, and she wasn't.

"Then why did you leave?" Her voice came out flat and barely above a whisper; she didn’t know how she’d controlled it – she wanted to shout, to scream out the question that had been churning around in her head for so long, gnawing at the edges of her sanity. It seemed like she’d come up with a million possible explanations and reasons through the past weeks, and now she needed to know. Had to finally hear what had been in his head when he'd made that choice; when he'd cast her aside like rubbish. 

He tried to pull her back to him, but she pressed him away. He’d hidden behind his name, behind his good looks and charm, all his life – if he wanted a future with her she needed him to confront his actions, to take responsibility for them and face the consequences. To acknowledge what he'd done to her – the woman he claimed to love. The woman who, he would soon find out, was to be the mother of his child. She saw the moment he realised there was no escape this time; saw fear reflex to his face, just for a split second, before he hid it away,

"Cersei needed me. I swore to always protect her". The fact he explained it that way, with talk of vows, made it harder to be angry and gave her a shade of understanding, but it didn’t erase the hurt. She'd hoped there was more, told herself he'd had some other plan when he got to Kings Landing, but it really was that simple. He really had chosen Cersei over her. She hadn’t thought it possible for her heart to break any more, but what pieces remained were rendered dust by his words.

“ _I_ needed you". She tried to keep the quavering out of her voice – she wanted, _needed_ him to know how much he'd hurt her, but the lifelong instinct not to appear weak was hard to break. Guarding her feelings had never been her strongest suit, but pregnancy had made controlling those emotions even harder. She was growing tired of being a constant wreck and a burden to others; others who held her up willingly, despite their own need of her strength. But she really had needed Jaime, so very much. He dipped his eyes, cowed by the immediacy of her pain, 

“Not like she did. I wanted to stay, believe me, but she's not strong like you. I couldn't bear the idea of her dying alone". Did he not know her at all? Had she hidden what she really felt for him that well? It wasn't like she hadn't always known how much Cersei meant to him but she'd hoped, believed, what had grown between them over the years was something more. That what they'd had was real, unlike the warped fantasy Cersei had sold him all his life.

"Is that what you really think of me? That I’m just ice inside – too cold and too ugly to have any feelings? I love you Jaime and I need you every bit as much as Cersei did”. He looked back up at her then, his face creased with sorrow. Despite everything, it still pained her to hurt him; cut her deeply to know it was she who’d made him feel that way. He lifted his hand to run it over her cheek and she let him – it was exquisitely painful to feel his gentle touch, his love, and yet she wanted it with everything she had.

"No, no, Brienne, please, I’m so sorry. I never thought anything like that – I could never think that about you. You're perfect to me". It would be so easy, just to give in to him, to avoid all this anguish. Cersei was gone now and here he was alive and all hers if she just allowed him to be, but her anger and hurt had to go somewhere, she couldn't just brush them aside like that. The last thing she wanted was to compromise her own feelings to spare his and end up resenting him – she still needed answers.

"I need to know why you chose to leave like that. You could have talked to me, explained what was in your head. You slept in my bed every night for a month, let me believe we had a future – the very least I deserved was the truth and you were going to leave without so much as a word... " It poured out of her, everything she'd had swirling endlessly around her head for weeks, torturing her mind and keeping her awake at night. She’d had to face his death and the denial of any chance to get answers from him – now that chance had been returned to her she couldn't hold back. His crestfallen look deepened,

"I didn't want to risk you following me. I wanted you to be safe. And... I felt guilty. Not just for leaving but… there's more,” He shifted his weight on the bed, struggling to hold himself up on just his good arm – she wanted to help him, but she could sense he needed this moment of space from her uncompromising gaze. When he met it again, he took her hand, his eyes burning with resolve, “There’s something I didn't tell you. But I have to be honest now – I have to tell you everything. Cersei... we… were together before I left for Winterfell. She was… there was a baby. I had to try and save my child". 

He searched her face for a reaction - she was immeasurably glad Tyrion had already told her because she didn't know how she'd have handled finding out like this, in this moment when she was already so filled with conflicting emotions she might burst. She'd imagined many times how she would tell him, wondered how it would play out when the moment finally came. Now he'd given her the perfect opportunity and she felt herself baulk; he'd been honest with her, now she had to do the same for him. But she couldn't keep her pain out of what she’d so wanted to be a special, beautiful moment between them,

"And what about _our_ baby Jaime?” She watched his face crease with confusion, then realisation slowly dawned – shock was followed by wonder, then he released his breath, sharply, but his smile failed to entirely mask his sorrow,

"You're... pregnant!?” She couldn’t respond in any other way than to nod, before it all became too much and she was forced to turn away – it meant she barely heard the whispered words that followed, 

“Gods, I’m so sorry”.

^^^^^^^^^

Jaime's heart raced unforgivingly in his chest – was this really happening? Had Brienne, the woman he now realised was the love of his life, who’d seemingly found a way to bring him back from the dead, really just told him she was going to have his baby? He was overcome by joy, and shame. He knew she'd be heartbroken when he left her crying in Winterfell's courtyard all those weeks ago, begging him to stay; knew because it destroyed a part of him to do it, but he’d never even considered the chance he was leaving her with such a burden. He thought he'd been freeing her of one – saving her from a lifelong association with one such as him. Now he knew he'd been within a hairsbreadth of condemning her, and his child, to far worse. It all but killed him again to think of her like that, pregnant and alone, abandoned by the man she loved, who she’d believed loved her. Any semblance of honour he’d once possessed was long dead, but what kind of man did that make him, truly?

He didn't have the first idea how to begin making amends for what he'd done. All he could think to do was make it clear to her how much he loved her, wanted and needed her – to spell out the commitment he was prepared to make. He'd imagined saying what he was about to say countless times as he lay dying, delirious with fever and trapped in the prison of his own mind, but never like this,

"Marry me". She had her back to him – he wished he could see her face but the fact he couldn't meant for one long, beautiful second he could pretend his pathetic, wholly inadequate sorry was enough, and everything would be all right. When she turned back around her expression was flat, unreadable; she’d unbuckled the arming jacket she was wearing and shrugged it off, throwing it on the back of a chair. Now she'd removed it he could see why she'd had it on – the garment did a very effective job of disguising her early but obvious pregnancy. She moved back towards him, slowly, with a hesitancy, a shyness he’d only seen once before – the night they’d made love for the first time. She clearly felt intensely vulnerable like this, and in spite of everything she trusted him with that vulnerability. He was humbled beyond words.

His eyes were fixed on her stomach – he badly wanted to touch her but he had no idea if she'd let him. As it was, when she reached him she took his hand herself and placed it there. He ran it over the swell of her belly a few times, before pushing beneath the hem of her tunic to feel her skin, warm and smooth under his fingers. He felt her tense but she didn't stop him – she dropped to sit beside him on the bed, so he didn't have to reach. This was his child inside her, too small yet for him to feel it move, but he already knew in the few short moments he’d known of its existence he loved it, and he would do right by it this time, whatever that took. He fought to chase away the inevitable thoughts of his other children, how he’d been a terrible father and never done anything but fail all of them – but there was nothing to be gained by torturing himself with those memories.

Brienne brought him back into the present when she ran a soft hand over his hair – the affection in the gesture touched him somewhere deep in his core; a place no-one else had ever been able to reach, that he himself hadn’t even known existed before her. It was only when he tried to move his hand higher, to brush the curve of her breast, that she finally stopped him and he fully registered she had given no answer to his question. He knew no way forward other than to ask it again, looking her in the eye this time, laying the full expanse of his heart bare before her,

"Will you marry me?” Her eyes closed as she dropped her head and sighed – a single tear escaping to run down her cheek.

"I wish you wouldn't ask Jaime, not now, not like this. I'm not going to marry you just because I’m carrying your child, whatever the world expects of me. I need to figure out if it’s what I really want first. Besides, there are other considerations now. It’s… complicated". He didn’t know what other complications there could be, but there was time enough to hear about everything that had happened whilst he’d been out of it later – all he cared about right now was her, and the baby. As to not being sure if she wanted him, he couldn't blame her. Couldn't imagine what she'd been through all these weeks believing she'd have to bring up his bastard child alone. He would never forgive himself for putting her through that, no matter what happened. If he was truly honest, he didn’t want her to take him back that easily either – he deserved to be punished for what he done, to be made to atone for all the pain he’d caused. It was high time.

"I understand. But I needed you to know it’s what I want. It's all I want – and not just because of the baby, because I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. What you and I have – it's real. I see that now". She looked up at him again – her eyes were still damp with tears; tears he'd caused,

"I'm not saying I don't love you too, but it’s all so confused. I couldn't be more relieved and glad that you're alive, and you're here with me. But I don't know how to look at you and not feel pain. You hurt me so much Jaime – I thought I'd lost you. You left me. You left us." When she said the word 'us’, her hand strayed to her belly, almost without thought. He ached to place his own hand over it, but he had to allow her the space to finish, to let her tell him exactly what he’d done to her, "I never even came close to opening myself up to someone as much as I did to you. I thought we were something special and I can't just pretend you didn't choose Cersei over what we had. It cut me so deeply that after everything we went through together, you'd still rather die with her than live with me. I need time. To figure it all out". Of course she did – it was the very least she could ask of him, time, but it still hurt him; frightened him. What if she never wanted him back? He'd have find a way to deal with that, somehow. He'd still be here for her, no matter what was to come. He'd start by showing her even more of his heart,

“I suppose a part of me was scared, that I wouldn't be enough for you. That I was damaged; tainted. I didn't think I deserved to be happy". He'd never laid himself open like this, well perhaps once, secretly in the night with the stars as witness – and that was also to her. She dropped a hand to his shoulder – she looked so sad, and he didn't know if it was for him or her, or both of them.

"What about what I wanted? What about what I deserved?” Her words were like a punch to the gut. She was right – he was just beginning to recognise the true depth of his past selfishness. He would change, he vowed it to himself in that moment, and he would do everything necessary to prove it to her, “You have to promise me Jaime, whatever happens between us from here on you have to be honest with me. Tell me what you're feeling, don't try and hide from it. Relationships are about trust – if I can't trust you then what do we have?” She was being so gentle with him, as gentle as she could bring herself to be – he was also undeserving of this kindness, but if it was possible to love her even more, he did.

"I swear it. I won’t keep anything from you again. I had a lot of time, to think, while I was lying in that rubble. It made me question everything, my whole life – I realised I’d been living a lie for years, maybe forever. If I could go back and change things, I would stay in Winterfell, with you. But I can't undo what I’ve done; none of it. I can only make sure it’s different from now on. So I'm here for you in every way you need – you, and our baby. If you'll let me be". It felt good, to talk like this to someone who listened; to someone who cared. He’d spent so long hiding, putting himself aside, trying to keep the peace, he hadn’t known how to do anything else. But she’d shown him a way out and he was going to grasp it with everything he had.

"Of course I will. I'll always need you Jaime, no matter what we are to each other. And you have to know that I would never keep you from your child.” She was too good to him. He had no idea how fate thought he could deserve such as her after everything he'd done. Not only that, when he'd thrown it all away, someone, somewhere had seen fit to give her the strength to bring him back. He wasn't going to fuck things up this time. He was going to make everything right if it took until his last breath. 

Brienne kicked off her boots and moved closer to him on the bed – he could sense her need for closeness, and he shuffled over so she had room to lie down beside him, wrapping his arms around her as she snuggled her head into his chest. She looked up at him, her eyes soft and unguarded,

"I’ve been hoping such a long time for answers, but I feel like I only have more questions. I’m so tired – right now, I just want to sleep in your arms. I've missed you so much. Is that all right? Can we leave what comes next until later?" Curled up against him, the curve of her belly pressed against his side, she felt nothing short of perfect. He'd give her a lifetime to work out what came next if she allowed him this. Hells, he was going to give her a lifetime regardless,

"Oh my darling, of course. I missed you too. Sleep now, I'll be here when you wake up". He planted a kiss on her forehead and pulled her a shade tighter against him, "I’ll always be here".


	21. All You Had To Do Was Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song is “All You Had To Do Was Stay” by Taylor Swift
> 
> “People like you always want back  
> The love they gave away  
> And people like me wanna believe you  
> When you say you’ve changed  
> The more I think about it  
> The less I know  
> All I know is that you drove us  
> Off the road  
> I’ve been picking up the pieces  
> Of the mess you made
> 
> All you had to do was stay  
> Had me in the palm of your hand  
> Why’d you have to go and lock me out  
> When I let you in  
> Could have been easy  
> All you had to do was stay”

Brienne awoke curled against Jaime's side – he was shifting beneath her and it had disturbed her from her peaceful slumber. She realised immediately that she was far too hot, but the last thing she wanted to do was move away from the indescribable bliss of his embrace. 

It was real. He was really here and he was really alive. She’d half expected to wake up and find herself alone in her own room, and for all that had happened since last evening to be one of the many fantasies she'd had whilst they'd been apart. But he was warm, solid and undeniable beside her, and for all the dragons and giants and walking dead men that had become a part of every day over the past few years, him lying there with his chest rising and falling was the most astonishing thing she'd ever seen. 

She’d slept so soundly – judging by the light still streaming into the room, it could only have been for an hour or so, but she felt more rested than she had since the last time she'd lain in his arms. The overwhelming comfort and safety she felt there was very, very welcome, but it would do nothing to help her unknot her tangled mass of confused emotions.

Their earlier conversation played in her head, hazy and unreal. Had he really asked her to marry him and had she really refused? The thought of that moment had been her most cherished dream for years now, but the reality had been nothing like her romantic fantasies. She’d hadn’t allowed herself to truly believe he would ever ask her, let alone that she would refuse him when he finally did. Was her response something she would live to regret? She knew in her heart her dearest hope was she’d find a way through the pain, and that if he ever asked her again she’d be able to say yes. 

But able was the important word – not only by her own feelings but also by obligation. She had to remind herself that even if she could, in time, let go of everything that had happened since he'd left Winterfell, she had other responsibilities now, other commitments. She’d sworn herself to the king, and honour would never allow her to renege on that, no matter how circumstances had changed since she'd made her pledge. 

Of course Jaime didn’t know that yet – carrying the secret weighed on her but she knew she wasn’t quite ready to tell him; needed a little longer for them to breathe before adding yet another layer to their complex situation. She had no idea how he was going to react – she hoped he would be pleased for her; tell her she deserved the historic honour of being the first woman to hold such a position. But the part of her which remembered how he'd allowed his heart to guide his head so many times in the past wasn't so sure…

He moved again, with a soft moan this time, and her eyes shot to his face worried that he was unwell, but his cares were smoothed by sleep and she realised he was merely dreaming. She wished she could see what he was seeing; felt a sharp, desperate need to be that close to him again – her mind travelling back to the night before when somehow they'd dreamed as one. His face creased into a smile – whatever he was dreaming about it was clearly pleasant. 

Then he moaned again, followed by an utterance of her name, deep and breathy, that travelled straight to her core, twinging heat between her legs and forcing her to press them together. She now knew exactly what he was dreaming about and it scared and thrilled her in equal measure. Her stomach clenched tightly – the overwhelming feelings reminded her of the first time they'd lain together, as if she was a maid once more; although her belly straining tight against her tunic refuted all chance of her ever being mistaken for that again.

He shifted once more, rolling towards her, his mouth mere fractions of an inch from hers so she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. She licked her lips, the moistness redoubling the intoxicating brush of his breath – she tried vainly to ignore the gush of wetness between her legs. His hips pressed forward against her – he was fully hard and let out a long low groan at the contact.  
Her mind tried to persuade her to move, but her body betrayed her – it longed to press in against him, to satisfy the ache that flooded her senses. She lay frozen between the two impulses whilst he thrust softly against her, until finally she found the strength to shift a little. She couldn't remain like this much longer or her resolve would crack and she’d be forced to kiss him. Gods she wanted him; craved his cock inside her – was she reduced to such weakness? To a primal lust that overrode every rational emotion?

She had to have the time and the space she'd asked him for, but with him warm and alive beside her, smelling so much of sex and... Jaime, it was all but impossible to roll away. Somehow, she managed it, bumping him with her hips gently but deliberately in the hope she would wake him. She knew what he was seeing, or perhaps reliving, was just a matter of desire, exactly the same as her reaction to him, and when he woke he would neither expect nor ask anything of her.

She turned her back to him, closing her eyes and pretending she was still asleep. She knew the instant he awoke, heard his sharp intake of breath, felt him jerk his hips away from her. He paused for a few moments just breathing, listening perhaps, to see if she was awake. Then, he leant over to look at her, and she kept up her pretence – she was clearly convincing as he only remained there for a moment before collapsing onto his back. She felt some more shifting behind her, and a tugging at the sheets, before he lay still once more.

She gave him a moment, before moving slightly and letting out what she hoped sounded like a genuine yawn as she opened her eyes. She’d expected him to respond, but he remained frozen, so she rolled over to see him clutching a blanket over himself as he kept his hips angled away from her. She wasn't sure what to say next, didn't know how to tell him he didn't need to try and hide his erection, his arousal, from her. 

She knew he was just trying to protect her, trying not to put any pressure on her, but despite the difficulties between them she wasn't afraid of his body, or his intentions. She'd long believed in his honour, and she knew she could trust him to give her all the time she'd requested, hells she could trust him with her very life. She knew in her heart he cared for her as strongly as he claimed, in spite of his mistakes. Honesty – that was what they'd agreed to, and if she expected it from him, she owed it to him in equal measure. The realisation emboldened her,

"It's all right. No hiding any more, remember?" He pressed his lips together with a slight smile – she could tell he was embarrassed and it was the strangest thing. She'd seen the whole range of emotions from him through the years, from fear to grief to anger, but she couldn't ever remember seeing him embarrassed. He’d always exuded an irrepressible confidence in his own abilities and physicality, but here he was rendered meek by his loss of control. She continued,

“It sounded like you were having a pleasant dream". Returning to the flippant banter that had characterised their relationship from its earliest days felt safe, and she hoped it would ease the growing tension. She'd never thought of herself as someone prone to wickedness, but she felt it in that moment; she couldn’t suppress the broad smile that swam its way onto her face. He cleared his throat,

"It was about you. I'm sorry..." He looked distraught, and she knew her tactic hadn’t worked – his shame was so palpable she could almost feel it rolling off him. She hated to see him feeling that way – like his own needs and desires were something to be ashamed of; that they were secondary to hers. She raised a hand to brush his hair away from his face – it was almost imperceptible but he flinched as if he expected her to hit him. It stirred a painful feeling in her gut, and she found herself suddenly feeling intensely protective towards him; the fear in his eyes cut her to the core. She didn’t ever want to think of him with Cersei, but she couldn’t help it in that moment; found herself wondering how she’d treated him that these were his instinctive reactions. She also hadn’t been able to shake Tyrion’s revelations about their father, and she knew if there was to be a future for them she’d have to get him to talk about all of this in time. 

She knew no better way to give her reassurance than to curl back into him again, wanting him to know she meant what she said – that it was okay to bare all of himself to her. As much as she wasn't going to give in to her own arousal, she couldn’t deny his desire for her meant something – and more than just physically. He wanted her, and she knew him well enough to have seen the depth and vulnerability of his heart. Jaime was a man who needed more than just shallow attraction to want intimacy. His brother’s words came back to her once again 'He could have his pick of women', and she knew it was true. He'd chosen her, connected with her, however briefly – for all the heart ache he’d subsequently caused, that had to count for something.

The curve of her belly pressed once more against his side – it was such a good feeling, knowing their child was safe there nestled between them. It felt right, and she wished she could just let go of her pain and allow this to be her future, but she knew she couldn't allow her pregnancy to make the decision for her. She tried to imagine how she'd feel, what she'd want, if it was purely about her and Jaime without the additional complication of a child to think of. She couldn't work out whether his baby growing inside her made her feel softer or harder towards him from one moment to the next. He continued to press his hips away from her, but he folded her willingly back into his arms. His head rested gently on the top of hers, and she could feel his breath moving her hair, sending shivers tumbling the length of her spine. Finally he spoke again,

"I didn't thank you – for bringing me back. I don't know what you did, or how... but, I know it was you. I don't know how to explain it. I heard you, I... felt you in my head". She didn't need him to explain – she knew instinctively, just as he had, the connection they'd made; felt power she didn't understand,

"I don't know how either, it just sort of… happened. All that matters is you're here – our child has its father and I don't have the words for how happy that makes me". His left arm was wrapped around her shoulder, so it was his golden hand he dropped between them to run over her stomach – it felt odd, even through the linen of her tunic; warm but unyielding against her. He'd always been self conscious of it before, avoided bringing attention to it and especially touching her with it, so the fact he did so now gave her pause,

"We’re really having a baby". She couldn't help but look up at him then – his eyes were damp and held a lightness that sent her heart into somersaults. He was truly excited to be a father, for real this time. She'd known he would be, known how much a child he could acknowledge as his own would mean him, but seeing his joy spelled out across his face like that made her want to kiss him so badly she could barely hold herself back.

"We most certainly are”. She placed her hand over the smooth metal of his pressed to her belly, "this and the fact I've barely been able to keep food down for the past six weeks or so has left little room for doubt". He sighed, dropping his closed lips softly against her upturned forehead,

"Have you been that sick?" Yet again she was torn, part of her wanted him to know it and to be hurt, the rest to protect his feelings. Honesty, she reminded herself. It could be the only way forward for them now,

"I've been feeling pretty awful, yes. Almost passed out a few times too. But I think it's starting to get less”. He drew away a little – the only way she could describe his expression was crushed. She could feel his heart rate increasing where her cheek was pressed against his chest,

"I should have been there”. The reflex response her mind provided was harsh, and her instinct was to push it away and find something else. But she realised it had to be said; she deserved to voice everything she’d gone through,

"Yes. You should". He didn't flinch – his expression remained one of openness despite his obvious regret, and it gave her hope he wasn't going to shy away from taking responsibility for what he'd done, "but there's nothing you can do to change it now and we both have to work out how to accept  
that." 

It sounded so simple, but the cold logic didn't stop her dwelling on it for a few moments as she knew she would continue to do in the coming days and weeks until she figured all this out. Images swamped her – Jaime beside her in Winterfell when news of the battle in the south came; the warmth of his body as they slept side by side on the road; finding out about the baby together; him proposing marriage and her accepting. She wasn't sure how she would ever fully shake those shades of a phantom past that would never be; how it could ever not hurt. She couldn't be sure if those same lost possibilities haunted him as they did her, but she felt enough, knew him enough, to believe in his sorrow and regret. Unfortunately, sorry couldn't magically fix everything,

"Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?" The question pulled her out of her reverie, pushed her mind into the future instead of the past – uncertainty was at least better than pain, for now. She'd allowed herself little time to really picture the child that was to come, everything that had happened with Jaime consuming her until the past couple of hours,

"I... don't know. Should I be able to tell do you think? Have some sort of... gut feeling? A mothers intuition?" It was a stupid thing to worry about, but that was perhaps a symptom of the fact nothing about pregnancy or the idea of becoming a mother was in any way familiar, or part of how she'd envisaged her future for so many years. He chuckled at her panicked response, and it went some way towards relaxing her.

"I shouldn't think so. There are witches who claim to l’m sure but I imagine they’re just guessing. That's all I was asking – to guess, for fun". He’d been trying to lighten things and she felt suddenly silly at her overreaction. She only got a few seconds to contemplate her answer, however, before there was a knock at the door. They jerked away from one another, Brienne straightening her clothing as she sat up, and Jaime pulling his protective blanket more firmly into his lap. He shouted,

"Come in". Tyrion had returned with the Maester in tow – Sam seemed just as astonished as everyone else had been on seeing Jaime, and she knew he wouldn’t be able to give her any further answers. If she was honest with herself, there was one person she knew would have those answers, if anyone did. She stood from the bed, running a reassuring hand over Jaime’s arm – she had to understand what had happened to bring him back, and why. None of it made sense her, and was adding to her confusion – and she needed to figure out a way to get things straight in her head.

Sam moved over to begin examining Jaime, and she bent to pull her boots back on before moving towards Tyrion. Once the maester was done with his work, she hoped he would have time alone to talk with his brother, and she hoped he could be gentler on Jaime than she had been able to. She knew Tyrion had his own pain and anger, but they were different to hers, and Jaime needed someone more readily able to offer forgiveness – his need for it was pouring out of him. She smiled at Tyrion and he smiled back, taking her hand supportively as she leaned into his ear,

“He knows about the baby, but we didn’t get on to everything else. I couldn’t work out how to tell him about…” She trailed off, gesturing to her Kingsguard armour still hooked over the back of the chair.

“Do you want me to? I happily will, but not if you’d rather tell him yourself”. It was a generous offer, but allowing him do it felt like she was running away from a hard conversation. She took a moment to consider what would be easier for Jaime, not just herself,

“If you could… I’m not sure he’s up to me dropping any more on him today”. He nodded, and squeezed her hand between both of hers before dropping it as she moved past him towards the door.


	22. Believer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song for this Chapter is ‘Believer’ by Imagine Dragons
> 
> This was actually the song that got the cogs of this idea whirring in the first place.
> 
> “First things first  
> I'mma say all the words inside my head  
> I'm fired up and tired of the way that things have been
> 
> Second things second  
> Don't you tell me what you think that I could be  
> I'm the one at the sail, I'm the master of my sea
> 
> I was broken from a young age  
> Taking my sulking to the masses  
> Writing my poems for the few  
> That look at me, took to me, shook to me, feeling me  
> Singing from heartache from the pain  
> Taking my message from the veins  
> Speaking my lesson from the brain  
> Seeing the beauty through the...
> 
> Pain!  
> You made me a, you made me a believer, believer  
> Pain!  
> You break me down, you build me up, believer, believer  
> Pain!  
> My life, my love, my drive, it came from...  
> Pain!
> 
> Last things last  
> By the grace of the fire and the flames  
> You're the face of the future, the blood in my veins”

Once Brienne had left, Jaime turned his attention to his two new visitors, being sure to keep the blanket pressed into his lap to hide his lingering arousal. Fortunately, the bumbling maester seemed largely oblivious to most things beyond whatever had his immediate attention – Tyrion, however, knew Jaime far too well to be deceived, but spared him a deal of embarrassment by restricting his reaction to a knowingly raised eyebrow. Jaime was relieved – and that feeling of relief increased when, before long, his awkward problem subsided.

He hadn’t been surprised by his physical reaction to having Brienne close to him again – he’d thought about little else whilst he’d lain close to death for what he now knew to be a number of weeks. She’d been so gentle with him, so honest, it was far more than he could possibly deserve. She hadn’t run from him, but seen him, heard him – allowed him the space to express himself as he had to her. She truly was the best person he’d ever known – to have such patience, such strength after everything he’d put her through was all but unimaginable. To know that he was to have a child with her was the greatest honour of his life.

He still didn’t know what had really happened in the past day, whether everything they’d told him was really true – it wasn’t that he didn’t believe them, but it was just so difficult to wrap his head around. He knew magic existed, of course he did, and he’d heard tales of people raised from the dead numerous times, but… why him? What could he possibly have done that would make him worthy of such a gift? He knew there was nothing, not a thing, that could even come close to making up for all the terrible things he’d done, let alone elevate him to being granted something such as this. So he didn’t know what to believe – in fact the only thing he could say he believed in for certain, was her. 

Sam completed his examination, declaring Jaime as healthy as any man he'd ever seen, despite the ugly mess of bloodless gashes cutting into his stomach. He’d barely spared a thought for Euron Greyjoy since the moment he left the Iron Islander's broken body in a cove below the Red Keep, but he found himself wondering now if it was still there, the flesh slowly falling away from his bones. It could so easily have been Jaime lying on that sandy shore – it was a miracle he'd survived the injuries from their fight as long as he had. The feeling of cold steel plunging beneath his ribs came back to him in a flash, sharp and choking, his hand reflexing to his belly, but the pain was wholly imaginary. Running his hand over the scars felt very strange, as if they weren’t a part of him; it was going take some time to get used to them – despite the wounds posing no further threat to his health, Sam was uncertain as to whether they would heal any further.

He was glad at least that his clean bill of health meant he was granted permission to leave the bed – his legs still felt weak and tired but, a hand leaning on his little brother's shoulder for support, he made it to a chair by the table without incident. Tyrion lingered at his side, and Jaime leaned down to pull him into an embrace, knowing his brother well enough to read his need, and sparing him the indignity of having to reach up for comfort like a child. When they broke apart after a few long moments of solace, Tyrion turned away quickly, fixing his attention on a bottle on the table. Jaime could tell he was attempting to hide his emotion – taking the opportunity to gather himself. 

The maester departed after gathering his things, and Jaime was left sitting opposite his brother, nursing the goblet of wine Tyrion had poured. As much as he loved spending time with him, it was hard not to feel like every time he sat alone with Tyrion he was about to be interrogated. The gaze that met him across the table was exactly the one he'd come to expect – challenging and with an ever-present air of disappointment. Jaime often wondered at how he'd grown up to be so confident when it seemed at every turn that his entire family knew better than him, about everything. If the three of them had ever had anything resembling a cordial relationship they would probably have spent many years devising ways to have a good laugh at dumb old Jaime's expense. 

But the only healthy relationship within the Lannister family had been between him and the man sitting opposite him – their love for one another was the single real thing either of them had experienced for many years, despite the fact it had been strained at times. Fixing on his brother's eyes now though, he could see something fundamental had changed between the two of them. Tyrion still looked at him as an exasperated adult looks at an ill-behaved child, and yet the tears that leaked from his eyes, and ran down cheeks creased into a smile, spoke of hope – a hope neither of them had possessed before.

"How are you?" The choke in his brother's voice rendered the question almost laughable by the amount it concealed. Too much, really – Jaime had no idea how to express everything he was feeling either, so he guessed it was understandable Tyrion had begun with something safe. Unfortunately, there were no safe answers,

"Well, I’m alive – which is, by all accounts, an improvement on a few hours ago. Although I’m still finding it all somewhat hard process. Was I really dead?" Tyrion sighed, wiping the dampness from his face with the crease of his sleeve.

"Is your lover's pain, and your brother’s not enough to assuage your doubts? I’ve seen many people die over the years, too many, and I’ve always felt sorry the next time I saw a sunny morning and they didn’t. But really you had the easiest of it – I suppose it was just like falling asleep and waking up again for you. It was those of us left here that had to suffer”. He was angry and hurt just as Brienne had been, of course he was, and Jaime wasn't sure what to say – whether to apologise first or refute his brother's assertions. Could he apologise again and not make it sound hollow? Every word he'd said to Brienne in that regard had sounded empty and insufficient even to his own ears.

"In between a castle landing on my head and falling asleep there was a lot of time to think. After that... I’m not sure I really know, or that I ever will. But I do know it was you that pulled me out of that rubble. Did your best to save me". Tyrion nodded, eyes turned down, his signet ring clinking against his goblet,

"It was the very least I could have done." A single tear ran down his newly dried face, "I thought you were dead when I first found you... both of you. You couldn't imagine my joy when I realised you were still breathing. But that just made it all the harder when you didn't recover. And Cersei..." He trailed off – Jaime could feel the weight of their entire lives resting thick in the air between them, and he realised just how much of an obstacle Cersei had been between them all these years. It was clear Tyrion didn't know how to broach her with him; had no idea about Jaime's fever sent clarity,

"You couldn't have done anything for her. I know – she was cold by the time you found us". Tyrion's head didn't move, his hand still worrying at his goblet; just his eyes flicked back to Jaime's, dark and piercing,

"Yes. She was already dead". He shifted in his seat, reaching to pour more wine, whilst he searched Jaime’s face, "Are you all right?" The tone of his question suggested he hadn’t found the reaction he expected. Jaime had no idea if he was all right – when he thought of Cersei he should be feeling angry or sad, or more realistically some combination of the two. But there was only numbness, emptiness, where those emotions should be,

"Yes, I am. Honestly thinking of her I feel nothing at all. I meant it when I said I had a lot of time to think. It's true that you see your whole life before you die, at least it was for me anyway. Nothing like watching it all from a distance to give you some perspective." Tyrion frowned at him oddly – he knew his brother wasn't used to him speaking with anything resembling sense or objectivity when it came to their sister, and it had clearly confused him, made him wary, "You were right. You've always been right about her, and I’ve been the blind, stupid idiot you always said I was. She played me like a harp and I let her, all our lives. And now, we’re finally free of her." Tyrion’s confusion turned to surprise, and he even managed a half-smile through the mass of emotions Jaime knew he must be feeling,

"I’m glad you've finally realised it, and a part of me is even more glad it was for yourself and not just because I told you. I only wish it had been years ago; would have saved us both a lot of pain”. Jaime knew, of course he knew, and he hated the fact it had taken death for them both to make him see it. Things could have been so different. Tyrion’s tone changed as he continued, "But I don't want you to think I'm glad she's dead. She was my sister – a part of me still loved her even after everything she did and said to me… and to you." Jaime nodded – he couldn't find it in himself say the same, even though he knew it must be true; she'd been his everything for his whole life. That couldn't just disappear, in spite of how betrayed he felt,

"Where... where is she now?" He wasn't sure he really wanted to know; realised that meant there might be the possibility to see her and he couldn't even process that right now, let alone have any idea if it was what he wanted. Whether he did want to or not, perhaps it was something he needed – if only to be sure she was really dead. A tiny part of him still doubted it – the part that held his fear. He knew though, deep inside that she was gone – he hadn't realised he'd always been able to feel her presence until he couldn't any longer. Perhaps that was where the emptiness stemmed from – a part of him had died with her. If that was true, it was a part of himself he didn't want any more, and was glad to be free of.

"Daenerys... had her body burnt. Davos only just managed to get you out of there before her Unsullied got to you". The mention of fire sent flames licking into the edges of Jaime’s vision again, and a heat with them; his hands reflexed to his face to try and protect it. The image of Cersei's cold, stiff body with fire engulfing it loomed large and startlingly vivid, and he clawed at his skin in an attempt to make it stop. Why would his mind not allow him to just be free of her? He gripped the table, his affliction slowly passing; he only realised he'd scrunched his eyes closed when he regained enough of himself to feel the ache in his cheeks. When he opened them again, Tyrion was at his side, a hand on his arm and eyes filled with concern,

“You really aren't okay. Come on, tell me, tell me all of it". Jaime stared into his brother's eyes, and he felt a closeness to him that hadn't been there in years; that had been locked away since Tyrion had killed their father... no, before that. Since Winterfell, the first time, since... the Stark boy. A wall had gone up in Jaime's mind that day; a wall built of shame. He'd kept people at arms length since then – things had even begun to change between him and Cersei. On some subconscious level he’d been slowly crushed under the weight of what his poison love for her had made him do – no, that he’d chosen to do. The only one who'd even come close to breaking through his barriers was Brienne, and when he'd sensed that, fear had made him run away. Now, under Tyrion's tender gaze he could feel the wall start to crumble. He was ready to let people in – ready to face everything he'd done,

"I don't know what to tell you. The fire... it's like there's a fire burning in my mind. Maybe it's my punishment, for all the pain I’ve caused. I’ve just been told that, physically, I’m in perfect health – no maester can help me with this". Tyrion's grip on his arm tightened, and his other hand cradled the back of Jaime’s head,

"I know I've gained a reputation for being pretty smart over the years, but I can't claim to have all the answers. I can only imagine recovery from death comes with some unusual experiences – a lot has happened and a lot has changed. It’s going to take time, to figure it all out. The best I can offer you right now is my ear. And more wine". Jaime couldn't help but laugh – Tyrion was right. He needed to relax and breathe, stop expecting to feel entirely himself just yet. Only a few short hours ago he had been dead after all. His thoughts turned back to the Dragon Queen, and all his  
earlier questions,

"So what does Daenerys Targaryen, the new Queen of the Seven Kingdoms think of my astonishing resurrection? Or haven't you told her yet?" He expected some witty response, but Tyrion's face paled and he turned away to pour the promised wine, taking a long time over the simple task. When he finally turned back, he held out Jaime's refilled goblet but failed to meet his eye,

"Daenerys is dead".

^^^^^^^^^^

Brienne entered the map room to see the king at a table off to the side, deep in conversation with Ser Davos – they were pouring over a selection of papers spread out before them. She approached tentatively, not wishing to intrude on their conference, but also suddenly aware she had left Jaime's room without her protective arming jacket and the realisation made her feel acutely exposed. She folded her hands over her stomach before taking another step towards them. Davos glanced over, smiling, but Bran had his back to her and made no effort to turn in his chair as he spoke,

“Ser Brienne. How fortuitous – I had wished to speak with you. Please, come closer". She moved to the table, Davos shifting over so she could stand beside the king, before bowing and making as if to take his leave. The King’s next words stopped him in his tracks, "You should remain Ser Davos. I believe you will have something to bring to this conversation". Davos frowned slightly but, with a brief flick of his eyes to Brienne’s belly, pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit down before taking a seat himself. Her long ingrained instincts made her want to refuse, but the practical part of her knew she'd be forced accept the need to push these urges aside as her pregnancy progressed. Besides, she was beginning to feel a little lightheaded and, realising she'd neglected to eat breakfast, made herself accept graciously. The king continued,

"I heard the good news about Ser Jaime, I assume it is that you wish to speak to me about". She nodded – the way he always seemed to know what you were going to say, almost before you did yourself, felt uncanny even though this time was hardly a leap given the circumstances,

"It is, your Grace. I... hoped you might be able to help me understand. How this was possible". She looked at his face for the first time since she’d entered the room; it held the same impassive expression it always did. She wished she'd known him before he become the Three Eyed Raven – known the lively little boy he'd once been, but perhaps that would just make seeing him like this, serving him, all the harder. And it would make knowing what Jaime had done to him even more heartbreaking than it did already was.

"You want to know if you did this. The answer is yes, it was you, your bond with him that made this happen. With a little helping hand". He leaned his bandaged hand on the table, and her eyes were drawn to it, realisation hitting her like a mace to the helmet,

"King’s blood...! I cleaned my sword, threw the rag in the fire..." It hadn't even occurred to her, before or afterwards – she'd done it without a shred of thought for the potential consequences of what she was doing,

"You did. And you held him in your heart when you did it, as I knew you would. But that was just the beginning. A push in the right direction if you will. You did the rest yourself”. She'd done nothing, known nothing about any of it. She couldn't possibly have such power, even with his help,

"But how? How could I have done this? Such magic is not within my gift”.

"You’d know how, if you looked inside yourself deeply enough – the Lady Melisandre told you a time ago; you're stronger than you know". The red witch – words that had made her feel strange, that she'd pushed away and not to thought of again until now echoed in her head _'He's a weak and broken man, but you're strong enough for both of you. He will need you before all this is over'._ As much as Brienne hated that woman, she had to admit it was clear that she’d known some measure of what was to come – somehow, she'd seen it,

"But... I don't follow the Lord of Light…” Just speaking the name made images of poison shadows, and Renly’s limp form collapsing to the ground, assault her senses once more. The idea that the same entity had taken from her and later given back in such profound ways was deeply conflicting – she didn't want to let go of her anger and disgust because that felt like dishonouring Renly’s memory but if this was true, how could she continue to hate one who had returned the love of her life, the man who held her very heart within him? "… He killed Renly." Her voice came out small, uncertain, but she reminded herself both men present had already seen her weak and vulnerable and she had nothing to hide from them – no sense of bravado to maintain.

"If Renly hadn't died the way he did, you would never have met your Kingslayer". He looked at her, straight in the face for the first time, his eyes softening almost imperceptibly. He emphasised the word 'your' and the idea that Jaime, in some sense, belonged to her, with her, in spite of everything pushed the warm, fluttering sensation from her stomach up into her chest, stilling her breath for a moment she was so overcome. She couldn't in any way refute what Bran had said – if she hadn't been forced to go with Lady Catelyn, she may never have met Jaime, and certainly wouldn't have spent the time with him for them to get to know each other as they had, to each save the other numerous times and begin the long, slow fall into one another, “You would never have conceived the child you guard as fiercely as a lion. The child which means Ser Jaime's blood flows within you”.

"So it was all supposed to happen?" She blurted it out, but it was the logical conclusion to what he’d said. A part of her liked the idea of being considered special enough to be part of some grand plan laid out by higher beings, but it also made her feel powerless, unable to have influence on her own life,

"I would be lying if I said I knew. Prophecy exists, but in many ways perhaps knowledge of such causes it to fulfil itself. He took a life from you before, a life you were powerless to save. Perhaps he decided to give you one back – the faceless men talk so often about the red god demanding balance. But I know little of gods, see nothing of them. You came to me for answers and I am not certain I can give them to you, not in the definitive way you want". He turned to Davos,

"You've seen this before, saw Jon Snow raised from the dead. Not only that but it was you yourself who went to the red priestess and asked her to try and bring him back, right at the moment her previously unshakeable faith was failing her. What made you do that?" Brienne had heard of this, of course she had – it had happened not long before she'd met Melisandre at Castle Black herself. She'd known Davos was there, but not the full extent of his involvement and now she understood Bran’s desire to have him present,

"We needed Jon Snow back, Your Grace. The watch was in turmoil – I thought it was worth an attempt at least". Bran tilted his head just a shade to the side, his eyes narrowing as he continued to look at Davos,

"But what made you think she could do it?"

"I'd seen her perform astounding acts of magic before. If anyone could do something like that it was her".

"But was it her that did it, or was it you?" The same unearthly feeling Brienne’d had numerous times before now came back even stronger, and she could tell by the look on Davos' face and the way he shifted in his chair that he felt it too, "you were the one who believed. Maybe it's belief itself that is important, and that's the real magic". He turned back to Brienne again, eyes searching her face dispassionately. How could he not be affected by the same ethereal feeling that hung palpably in the air?

"Do you understand now? Whoever else may or may not have been involved, it was your belief that brought Ser Jaime back. You willed it to happen. I know you want more than that from me, but consider this; What if you can find it in yourself to trust and believe that everything is as it should be, that you, and he, are exactly where you're supposed to be at exactly the right time. What if that were true?" She wanted to believe it – she could feel her desire for such a simple resolution threatening to consume every other emotion, 

"You think I should forgive him".

"I think you should do what you think is right. But he's free now. He can be what you need him to be".

"And what do I need him to be?"

"Your husband. And a father to your child".

"But... are you saying you'd allow..."

"That I'd allow you to marry in spite of your position? I would. I believe it would be in the best interests of everyone involved, myself included. I knew your circumstances before appointing you, they have now changed somewhat, but what hasn’t changed is my conviction that I could not find anyone better, and I would never force you to choose between your duty and your family. If you decide marriage is what you want of course, I would not wish to influence a decision you must make entirely on your own".

The revelation lifted her, but also churned her stomach with fear. Knowing she could marry Jaime if she wished, with the king's blessing, filled her with a fierce hope, but a part of her had been relying on using the threat of his refusal as a shield. She suddenly felt even more cowardly at leaving Tyrion to tell Jaime of her new position, but she knew she still had to face the many words and emotions to come in that regard. Would she be ready to tell him the king would give his permission if he asked for it? Right now, she really didn’t know.


End file.
